Finding Out the Truth
by AllThingsInsane
Summary: AU. Prequel to the "Missing" verse. Caleb River's life is turned completely upside down by the murder of his wife. With growing police scrutiny surrounding the questionable events surrounding his wife's death, he feels like he has nowhere to turn to. When he meets a group of people who are able to explain what happened, will he believe them?
1. Chapter 1

Five hours.

An immeasurable amount of minutes and seconds since Caleb River's life had been turned completely upside down. It still didn't seem _real_ to him, and in that instant, sitting in the confining and claustrophobic interrogation room in the police department, he felt sick to his stomach.

It had to be a dream that he would be fortunate enough to wake up from any second, and everything would still be okay, he would still have his cozy life in Dallas, and more importantly, his pregnant wife by his side as they eagerly anticipated the birth of their first child.

A boy or girl.

They had made the conscious decision to wait until the birth to know the sex. It had been her idea, something that Caleb had gone along with hesitantly, because he had wanted to know whether to expect a boy that he could rough-house with and toss around the football, or a girl that he would spoil rotten, and obsess over when she went on her first date with a boy.

Now _none_ of that mattered.

Because those dreams had been dashed as quickly as they had miraculously come to fruition. Every second spent agonizing over the perfect, neutral color palettes for the nursery, and happily escorting his beautiful wife to her ultrasounds, had been in vain.

Because they were-

_No! _His mind refused to allow that impossible reality to sink into his tormented soul. It was impossible that the worst possible thing had happened, and he had been powerless to stop it from happening. It hadn't been his fault, even though that did absolutely _nothing_ to soothe the agonizing pain he was in as he waited for the two investigators to come back in.

Muffling a heart-wrenching sob behind his hand as his mind brought forth the cruel reality of that night once again, he tried to think of anything else, but that would have been almost like imagining a different outcome for the evening, a different outcome that _hadn't_ involved coming home, and finding the horror that awaited him.

The hard plastic seat that he had been told to sit in, and the impersonal cup of coffee that tasted more like dirt, did little to make him feel better as his shaking hand clumsily closed around the styrofoam cup and raised it to his mouth to inhale another gulp.

At least it served one purpose in distracting him somewhat—enabling him to focus on the seemingly complex art of resuming function of his frozen limbs as they handled the cup and the lukewarm liquid as it burned down his throat.

Swiping a hand over his exhausted face, all he wanted was to go someplace with a bed and lay down. Not that it would do much good, when his mind would undoubtedly seize opportunity of the quietness that he would be basking in, and use that to showcase the horrors that it had been storing up to present him with.

When the door leading out of the oppressive room was finally opened, he somehow found the strength to lift his head to meet the two investigators as they entered the room, shutting the door behind them as they pulled out two chairs for them to sit down on. One of them was older, middle to late fifties from the looks of it, and the other one was younger, probable a rookie.

"Caleb Rivers?"

A nod in answer.

"I'm Detective Springer," the older one said, introducing himself. "And this is my partner, Detective Fountain."

Caleb nodded, not really knowing what else to say. Did they expect him to show any euphoria at finally getting the chance to speak with them? Especially after having been forced to wait for them for nearly half an hour with a headache that refused to let up.

"Hi," he finally said, surprised at how raw and cracked his voice was. The product of the endless amount of tears that he had expelled since earlier that evening.

"I apologize for the wait," Springer said, "we were trying to gather last minute witness statements, and speak with the responding officer. You might know Officer Lincoln? He was the first responder on the scene-"

"No," Caleb interjected, shaking his head. "I...I don't remember him. I can't even remember my own _name_ right now."

How on earth did they _honestly_ expect him to remember who he had spoken with immediately after discovering the carnage at his home? He knew that they didn't mean it like that, but it was still slightly infuriating as he tried to put a lid on his fractured emotions.

"It's understandable," Fountain said, "we don't want this to go on any longer than necessary, so we'll try to wrap this up quickly."

"Thank you," Caleb said, heaving a deep sigh as he trained his eyes on their calm faces.

It was a relief to see their calm expressions, and even though he knew that they had seen the worst of the worst in their line of work, it was still nice to have their steady assurances to guide him along in this terrifying new process.

"This questioning," Springer explained, "is to get witness statements from everyone that was close to...to your wife," he said, his tone softening in sympathy, even though Caleb didn't buy it. "And obviously since you were the closest one to her..."

Caleb nodded. "I understand."

"We appreciate you taking the time to speak with us," Fountain said, "we understand what a difficult time this must be for you."

_Like hell you do_, Caleb thought, doing his best to refrain from responding verbally, like he was sorely tempted to.

These people, as well-intentioned as they were, had _no_ idea what it was like to come home and find his wife in a pool of her own blood. They had no idea what it was like to go through the horrifying ordeal of calling 911, and then waiting for them to arrive, all the while trying desperately to resuscitate her.

No. They certainly had no idea what this hell was like for him.

"Part of our job," Springer explained, "is establishing a timeline of events that directly relates to the crime itself. That's why we have to interview _everyone_ to get an idea of the dynamics at play here, and the different relationships."

Caleb nodded. "Okay."

What was he supposed to say to that?

"How long were you and your wife married?"

Hearing them speak of her in the past tense was almost like being delivered a painful punch to the jaw. It made the situation, as horrible as it already was, that much _realer_, cemented the impossible reality that his wife was dead, that their baby was gone.

And at the hands of an unknown assailant who had broken into their home, and chosen _his_ family as his or her next victim. It was dizzying, the things that he had seen, and the shock at finding what he had found.

"Three years," he finally choked out, once he was aware that he had yet to answer their question.

"Okay," Fountain said. "Was it a happy marriage, for the most part?"

Caleb nodded, raising his hand to wipe the single tear that slid down his cheek. What kind of question _was_ that? Of course they had been happy. Every couple had arguments now and again, and they were no strangers to that, but they had always been in love, always resolved whatever conflict was keeping them down.

"Yes, of course. We were very happy. Everything was going great for us."

They had recently secured a new home, the one that Caleb had found her in, and he had been promoted at his job. Then, of course, the joyful news that she was pregnant.

"A new job?" Springer asked, looking down at his notes, no doubt having gotten all the information on him that he needed, but wanting to hear it from him firsthand.

"No, not really. I got promoted in my current position."

"What about your wife?"

"She was busy decorating our new house," Caleb said with a small smile, remembering how obsessive she had been in making sure their new home was up to par with her standards, and also making sure it was baby proof. "And making sure it was safe for our baby."

"Baby?" Fountain asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly not having been privy to that information before. "She was pregnant?"

Caleb nodded, as he raised a hand to squeeze more of the same tears from his eyes. It wasn't enough that his wife had been taken from him, but their baby was gone, too. An innocent being that hadn't even had the chance to draw his or her's first breath yet.

It was almost too much for him to bear when he thought of it like that. What kind of sick monster would break into a home for the express purpose of _murdering_ two innocent people?

"She was," he quietly confirmed.

"How...how far along?" he asked, obviously trying to handle the subject as delicately as possible.

"Four months."

"You were busy decorating the nursery and getting the house ready?" Springer asked with a small smile, clearly trying to get Caleb to loosen up and speak more openly with them.

"She was. I had _no_ idea what all of that entailed," he said with a small smile. "She had an eye for design, and wanted everything perfect."

"I know. My wife is like that with our kids."

"I let her do what she wanted," Caleb said with a shrug. "Who was I to get in the way of her wanting to make sure the nursery was as wonderful and beautiful as possible?"

Of course none of that mattered anymore.

All the hours of labor she put into the nursery had all been for nothing.

"We understand," Fountain said, "that when a couple is in the throes of having a baby, and getting promoted at work, there could be stress, and some people just end up snapping."

Caleb opened his mouth and then closed it several times. Was this man trying to imply that he might have had something to do with murdering her? It was too outlandish, and so it couldn't be true that that was what he was thinking.

"No," he said, once he had found his voice. "That's—that's not the case with us."

"Did you have an argument right before, for any reason?"

"No. I was at work all day."

Working as the new assistant manager in his company, he had been expected to be present at all hours of the day or night if needed, and on that day, he had been needed to cover another shift that someone else had abandoned.

"Where?" Springer asked.

"At Hardy's Construction Company on Seventh Street."

"What are your hours, generally speaking?"

"It depends, honestly. I'm the assistant manager, and so sometimes I'm needed for an hour, sometimes I'm needed for several hours at a time."

By a cruel twist of fate, his manager had required him to stay late to cover an employee that usually worked that shift, and then close up the shop at the end of the day. It made Caleb sick thinking of the what-ifs, if he had been home earlier would he have been able to stop the intruder from murdering his wife and unborn child?

"What were your hours today?"

"From nine-thirty this morning to six twenty-five tonight."

Daring a glance at the clock, he saw that it was nearly eleven-thirty at night. It had been five hours since he had come home and discovered the carnage that awaited him. It was heart-rending to think about it continuously like he had been forced to do, but it was absolutely futile to direct his mind somewhere else.

"Okay," Springer said, "and when you got home, did you notice any signs of a break-in or struggle?"

Caleb shook his head. "No. Everything seemed to be fine. The door was locked, garage door was down."

"No windows were broken?"

"No."

"Okay," Fountain said, "when you walked in, what did you notice?"

Caleb shook his head, raising his hand to wipe some more tears from his eyes. It was obvious that they wouldn't let him go easy on the hard questions, the ones that he was in no condition emotionally or physically to answer, but had no choice when _they_ were the ones trying to solve her murder.

"Nothing at first-"

"When did you _first_ notice something, and what did you do?"

"It was when-" Caleb paused, heaving a shaking sigh as he tried to garner enough courage to talk about something so completely horrific and devastating. "It was when I was walking into the kitchen-"

"From where?"

"From the dining room. The dining room is situated right off the kitchen. I noticed a smell, and I thought that something had cooked wrong. I never thought-"

"Did you walk in the kitchen?" Springer asked.

"Yes."

"Did you find her there?"

Caleb nodded. "Yes."

"What did you do then?"

"I grabbed the phone, and called 911."

"Did you do anything to try to revive her?"

"Of course I did."

The detectives both nodded. "Okay. Did you notice anything missing?"

"No."

Not that he had had time to search the place and determine if anything had been stolen. His main priority had been his wife, and if she was alright or not.

"We recovered a weapon at the scene that we believe was the one used in the attack."

That was new.

Caleb had no idea that the police had already zeroed in on a possible murder weapon. It made the entire situation even that more real, and it was absolutely horrifying to him, as he forced himself to remain calm, and not let himself pass out like his body was trying to tell him to do.

"You did?" he finally said, mustering up the strength to speak.

"Yes."

Pulling out a large, clear evidence bag they laid it flat against the table. Leaning foreword, Caleb tried to look past the blood stains, and at the knife in general. It was one of theirs, a kitchen knife that Katie, his wife, had been using to make some kind of crock pot dinner when he had been about ready to leave for work.

Tearing his eyes away from the hideous object, he couldn't stop the tears that trailed down his face as he raised his hand to his mouth, trying as hard as he could to pull it together for the rest of the interview.

"That's ours," he confirmed.

"It is?" the detectives asked, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Yes. I saw her with it this morning before I left for work."

"Okay. We had it tested for fingerprints, and we should get the results back fairly soon."

"Thank you."

"In the meantime, is there anyone that can verify that you were at work during the hours that you mentioned?"

"Excuse me?"

"We need an alibi from you so we can begin the process of ruling you out as a suspect. Who can we speak with that can account for your location?"

"Um...you can speak with my boss."

"Was he there tonight?"

Caleb shook his head. "No."

"We need someone who can physically confirm your location during the time the murder happened, and when you say you were at work," Springer said.

"You can speak with any of the employees there. They can tell you," Caleb said tiredly, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Are you looking at me as a suspect?"

"Right now we're looking at _everyone_ as potential suspects," Fountain explained, "and it's _our_ job to clear as many people as we can."

"I have nothing to hide," Caleb said with a shrug. "I'm not a liar, either. Call the store, talk to any of the people there that you want to."

"We will do that."

"Can I leave now?"

"Yes."

* * *

_This is the prequel to the Missing verse that I mentioned. This kind of explores Caleb's back story. How he got into hunting, how he met Jim and Bobby, and how he and John and the boys met each other. _

_I hope you enjoy!_

_-Casey_

_4/17/14_


	2. Chapter 2

It couldn't be true that she was gone—that he had just sat through a brutal police questioning because of her death—and it couldn't be true that she died at the hands of murder, someone who had broken into their home and decided to be her judge, jury and executioner.

Anguish.

_Anger._

Desperation.

_Hurt_.

Longing.

_Fear_.

Caleb was sure that he had experienced the entire complexity of negative human emotion as he was _finally_ allowed to leave the oppressive police department, and walk out into the chilly evening air. It was nearly one in the morning, he had spent almost two hours being questioned by the investigators, and being asked the same round of questions as they tried to find a loophole in what he was saying to them.

It had been exhausting to come home after a long night of work, only to find his wife lying in a pool of her own blood in the kitchen, and then have to face the seemingly endless amount of scrutiny and questions that he had been presented with after he had been asked to go by the station.

Even though he knew, from having a police officer as a father, that the police automatically looked to the spouse first as a suspect, it had still been slightly disconcerting to realize that that was what they thought when they looked at him, that they were trying to rule him out as a tentative person of interest.

He had never raised a _finger_ to her—not even in anger—and to realize that they assumed he might have something to do her with her _murder_, was absolutely atrocious to him, but something he had to bear until they could officially rule him out, however long that took them.

Scrubbing a hand over his sore, itchy eyes that were products of his utter exhaustion, he slid into his car, mindful of how fast his heart was pounding as he eased the vehicle into drive. What was he supposed to do now that his wife was dead, and his entire future in shambles? Where was he supposed to _go_?

The second the police had arrived on the scene, they had sealed his house off, declaring it an official crime scene. Even _if_ he had been allowed back, he was sure he wouldn't. The place that had once been full of so many joyful memories, as he and his wife labored to make it special and beautiful for their expanding family, was now marred by the fact that she had died there, that someone had broken into their home and had murdered them in cold blood.

Shaking his head at the enormity of what had happened in the space of only a few hours, he finally started the car and headed down the lonely, empty streets. Most normal people were in bed at that hour, oblivious to the horror that had befallen their cozy town.

Crying was useless—he had already expelled all the tears that were in his body—and even _if_ he had been able to do it _physically_, he wasn't sure he could stomach it _emotionally_ as he absently raised a hand to his face to stop the influx of moisture before it made its dreaded appearance.

He could go to his brother's house—he and his brother had always been fairly close—and he had helped him when it had come time to put up the decorations for the house, the ones that had required the manpower that he was incapable of doing alone, and he had been the driving force in helping his big brother overcome the death of their parents by natural causes, and finally move on with his life.

If anyone would help him pick up the shattered pieces of his life, it would be his brother. Deciding on a whim to follow his instincts, he turned the car into the small neighborhood that his brother resided in. Scanning the houses that were all bunched together, he finally pulled into the one at the end of the street, the only one with a race boat in the driveway.

Smiling slightly, he got out and went up to the front door. Years ago when his brother had bought the house, he had gifted Caleb with his own key to the place to use in case of emergencies like this. Never more grateful for it than he was right then, he searched through his keyring before finally selecting the one that would grant him access to his brother's bachelor pad.

It wasn't anything fancy—just big enough for his brother and the various animals that he had to keep him company. Pausing briefly to scratch behind the ears of his little puppy, he kept on his intended path as he turned a sharp corner, and walked down the hallway until he reached the bedroom door on the immediate left.

Pausing only briefly, he let himself into his brother's room, knowing he would be giving him a heart attack by the sudden wake up call, but also knowing that he didn't have much of a choice in the matter, as he crept up to his snoring, still form.

"Jared," he whispered, stopping once he was standing over him, as he reached out a hand to shake his shoulder. "Dude, wake up!" he hissed, getting tired of waiting for his brother to wake up from the deep sleep that he was known to enjoy.

When they had been younger, it had been something that Caleb had _loved_ making fun of him for, especially when his chronic sleeping problem had resulted in him missing the bus more than once, but when this was something _dire_ like right then, it was more of an annoyance than anything else.

"Wha-" his brother said, rolling over partway on his side to look at the person that had rudely interrupted his sleep. "What the _hell_ are you doing here, bro?"

"I have a _huge_ problem," Caleb said, as he took matters into his own hands and whipped the covers off his brother, and turned on the bedside light. "Something happened."

"Light! Not good," Jared said, as he batted Caleb's hand away. "Whatever it is, couldn't it have waited until I was actually _awake_? Or when it wasn't," he paused in his statement as he glanced at his alarm clock. "One in the morning?"

"No, it couldn't," Caleb said, shaking his head.

"Fine," he said with a groan. "What's the problem? And if you guys had another fight, just apologize, get her some flowers and chocolate, and it will be fine-"

"Katie's dead."

Those two words stopped him short, as he turned exhausted eyes to face his younger brother. Even though they both liked to joke around with each other, this was something that he knew Caleb would _never_ tease about, and that realization _alone_ was enough to get him the rest of the way out of bed, and up to face his brother.

In all his years of living with and knowing Caleb, he had never seen the amount of pain and shock that was on his brother's face, as he drew him into a hug. Normally they were never that touchy-feely with each other, but he knew that his brother needed all the support he could possibly get in that moment.

"What happened?" he asked, as Caleb followed him out to the kitchen where he set about making a cup of coffee that would hopefully sustain both of them through the upcoming conversation they were about to have.

"I—I honestly don't know," Caleb said, as he accepted the steaming cup that he was offered. "I came home late, and when I got there I found her."

"Where?"

"In the kitchen."

"What do the police think happened?" Jared asked, as he studied his brother carefully.

"They haven't said. They started interviewing a bunch of people, and I was the first one on the list."

"Of course," Jared said with a snort. "You know what Dad always said-"

"I do. I was there for about two hours answering the same set of questions _over_ and _over_ again."

"Do you think they consider you to be a suspect yet?"

"They haven't said it in those _words_ yet, but I know that's what they're thinking, at least until they can rule me out."

"Right."

"So what now? What am I supposed to do? My house is a crime scene, and my wife and kid are both dead."

Jared shook his head, setting his cup down. "You can stay here for as long as you need to. The other stuff, we'll figure out as it comes."

"Thank you."

"Anytime. I'll let you know how much I charge for rent," he added teasingly, trying to loosen the mood up a little bit, even though he knew that would be an impossible job to accomplish with how fresh it was in everyone's minds.

"You're such an ass."

"You know it."

* * *

_The morning was clear—nice and sunny with the birds chirping and the different lawnmowers moving in synchronization. It was a peaceful, idyllic setting, and that was what Caleb enjoyed best about living in a small town, where people stopped to wave to one another, and always supported each other through the good and bad. _

_It wasn't a bad place to raise a family, either, and that was why Caleb and Katie had made the choice to return back to his roots and put a down payment on a house that they had been looking at for some time, and were afraid would be taken out from under them. _

_Though the inevitable remodeling process had been long and drawn out, thanks to a few glitches in the system when it came to the more than unreliable contractors they hired, the job had eventually been done, and when they had stood back to appraise their work, they were looking at a completely different home with modernized features, and a healthier foundation to settle down in. _

_That had been months ago, and while he had enjoyed getting his hands dirty and helping speed along the process, he was just glad that it was all over and done with, and he could enjoy the fruits of his labor. _

_Walking through the hall and down the stairs, he was immediately greeted by the inviting aroma of homemade biscuits and pancakes. Smiling contentedly to himself, he swung around the corner and into the kitchen, where Katie was putting the finishing touches on her meal. _

"_Morning, baby," she said, turning once she heard his approach. "Want some?"_

"_You bet," he said, as he grabbed a plate for himself. "You better take it easy, though," he warned. _

_Recently, much to their incredulity and relief, Katie had learned that she was pregnant with their first baby. It had been a long road of trying for something they both wanted and were both prepared for, and yet it hadn't come for nearly three years, until just recently. _

"_I know," she said, "I'm being careful."_

"_Your doctor said-"_

"_I _know _what he said," she replied, rolling her eyes, "and I have a handle on it."_

_Her early months of the pregnancy had been tainted with near constant morning sickness, and her doctor had ordered her to take it easy, and not overdo it on herself. So far, she had rebelled against his rules, and had taken on much more than she should have, including decorating the nursery, and getting up early to make breakfast._

"_I know," he said, "but I'm only looking out for you _and_ for little junior in there."_

"_How do you know it's a he?" she asked coyly. _

"_Because I _do_," he replied firmly. _

"_Well, you're going to have to be a little more convincing than that."_

"_How so?"_

"_Because," she said, pausing briefly to lift her head up to capture his lips in a kiss. "A woman's intuition is unbeatable."_

"_That's funny."_

_Reaching down for his tool belt, he fastened it quickly around his waist. Over the last few months, he had grown accustomed to carrying around its heavy bulk as he walked around the shop, and was just glad for the opportunity that it gave him. _

"_Do you have to work?" she asked, her lips turning downward._

_Even though she had championed for him to get the promotion, she hadn't taken into account the longer hours he would be required to work, and the often unpredictable schedule he had to adhere to sometimes._

"_Yeah. My boss needs me to cover a shift for one of the guys who flaked on us again," he said, shaking his head in irritation at the tardiness of some of the employees that his company employed. _

"_That's not fair that they make _you _pick up the slack for something that someone _else _did," she remarked, frowning. _

"_I know. I _completely_ agree, but I'm not the one that makes up the rules around there."_

_He agreed with her that it wasn't fair that they made him work longer hours to compensate for an employee skipping out on a day, but it was the only way that he would bring home the paycheck, and the only way he would be able to keep the job that had sustained them through a lot._

"_I wish you did."_

"_Me, too."_

"_What time are you coming back?" she asked._

"_Around nine, after closing."_

"_Okay," she said, as she allowed him to give her one final goodbye kiss. _

"_Have a good day," he said, as he prepared to leave. "I'll call you on my break."_

"_Sounds good. Wait," she added, as she saw him turn to go. "You forgot someone."_

"_How could I forget?" he said, smiling, as he bent down to kiss her stomach. "See you later."_

"_Bye."_

* * *

It was a miracle he had even gotten to sleep that night—even though it had been a restless one—and one spent tossing and turning as he tried to rid his mind of the horrific images that it had seen that night.

The dream he had had was the last time he had ever laid eyes on her again—alive, at least. It was something that he would undoubtedly treasure later on, but right then, it had been the _last_ thing he had wanted to see, subconsciously or not.

"Hey," Jared said, coming into the room.

"What time is it?" Caleb asked, daring to open his eyes, and almost immediately regretting it when the harsh sunlight filtered in through the window.

"Time to get up?" Jared supplied.

"Ha-ha," Caleb said dryly. "Hilarious. Really, what time is it?"

"Around seven-thirty. The police station just called."

"They _did_?"

That made him nervous. Why would they want anything else to do with him if they were trying to rule him out as a suspect?

"Yeah. They have some more questions for you."


	3. Chapter 3

Caleb didn't know _what_ to make of the fact that the investigators wanted to interview him again. It could only be that they wanted to ask him some follow-up questions that they hadn't gotten to the night before, though that seemed unlikely, or it could be the worst possible scenario, and they considered him to be a true person of interest in Katie's death.

Thinking about that possibility made him want to lose the meager breakfast that he had allowed himself to eat before he and Jared had left for the station—against his objections, his brother had chosen to drive him, claiming that he was in no shape to drive on his own, which Caleb couldn't really argue against, even though he hated relying on his big brother for _anything_.

Staring down at his knee which was jiggling up and down in a show of nervousness, he tried to imagine what the police wanted, and failed. With them, no amount of guesswork would suffice for what the true reason would _actually_ hold.

It could be nothing—which was unlikely. Or it could be that they needed more than what he had given them the night before. It was hard to accurately predict the _true_ reason for why they were calling him back down on such short notice, and so early in the morning, when his body had barely gotten accustomed to the shift from night to day.

It was hard to believe that it had been twelve hours since his entire life had gone up in shambles. Coming home, finding Katie in a pool of her own blood, the intruder who had broken in, nowhere to be seen, and a thousand questions that _he_ had, and was incapable of giving to the police who were investigating her murder to the best of their ability.

Going to his brother's had been the smartest option—and even though he had tried to sleep after he had briefly filled him in on everything that had transpired during the night, he had been unable to. The kinds of thoughts that his mind had played host to, had made sure of that as he tossed and turned, trying desperately to find a suitable position to rest his body in.

Now he had to worry about whatever it was that the police wanted with him—and that was no easy thought to rid himself of as they approached downtown where the precinct was located. He didn't need his police officer of a father to tell him that the investigators wanting to interview him again, wasn't a good sign.

Sighing, he tried to pull himself together the best he could so that it wouldn't look suspicious to the investigators when they met up with him again.

"How did you sleep?" Jared asked, as he turned a corner.

"Not good—you?"

"Okay, I guess. I never got around to asking you last night, but are you okay?"

It was a question that had been so obviously answered the night before, that Jared hadn't even bothered asking him outright. He couldn't imagine what it must have felt like to lose someone so important so vital, and without even a _single_ warning.

"No," Caleb said, shaking his head. "I'm not even _close_ to being in the range of okay right now."

It had slammed into him so suddenly, that his body (as well as his mind) was trying to catch up with all the emotional trauma that he had experienced over the last several hours.

"I'm sure, man," his brother said, clearly not knowing _what_ to say.

What could you say to something that was so completely shocking and unexpected as a member of your family being _murdered_? It completely defied reason and explanation, and those closest to her, were at a complete loss as to how to properly mourn her.

"I talked to Katie's parents," Caleb said.

That had been one conversation that he would have paid anything to _not_ have had. Her mother, while understandably devastated and inconsolable at the loss of not only her daughter, but her future grandchild, had wanted answers that he had been unable to give her.

"What did they say?"

"Her mother wanted to know what happened, and how could I tell her that? I wasn't even _there_, and I tried to tell her that, but she kept insisting that she wanted answers. I was the one who was supposed to have been there with her, and I wasn't," he said, as he raised his hand to stop the influx of tears before they could even get out.

"I know that, but you had no way of knowing-"

"It doesn't matter. I swore in my vows to love and protect her, and look where she ended up."

Not _directly_ at his hands, but he had been the one who was supposed to have been there for her, and instead of that, she had died alone and in fear, most likely. It was the cruelest ending to a life that Caleb could even imagine, and so he tried _not_ to.

"They know it's not your fault. They have to."

"I know that, but it doesn't make it any easier."

He and Katie's parents had always gotten along well, and while he would have loved the opportunity to have seen them right after the murder had happened, he had been dragged down to the police station to answer pointless questions from people who were wasting their time with him.

"I know."

When Jared pulled into the crowded parking lot of the downtown police center, he tried to steel himself for whatever hell was about to come down on his shoulders again. It wasn't fair that he had to worry about not only burying his wife and child, but also trying to figure out what the police were thinking about him.

"Do you want me to go in?" Jared asked, as he watched his brother prepare to unbuckle his seatbelt.

"No, I'm good."

He had no idea how long it would take for the next round of questioning to wrap up, and he didn't want his brother to have to face the burden of waiting around for him while he was in the interview room.

"Okay, just call me, then?"

"You bet."

"Okay."

Taking a deep breath as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, he walked inside the stuffy and overbearing front reception area, and was almost immediately greeted by the same people who had interviewed him the night before.

"Thank you for meeting with us again," Springer said, as he gestured for Caleb to follow he and his partner around a corner and down the same hall that he had been led through the night before.

"What's this about?" Caleb asked, as he took a seat on one of the hard, metal chairs that he had sat in only several hours previously.

"We just had some follow-up questions," Fountain explained, as he closed the door behind him.

"Like what?"

"Well," Springer said, as he produced a manila folder that stored some of the crime scene photographs they had managed to collect, as well as their official reports centering around the ongoing investigation. "We got the results back from the fingerprint scan we ran on the knife."

"And?" Caleb asked, raising an eyebrow. "Did it tell you anything about who might have-"

He cut himself off short. There was no way he could verbally say those horrible words out loud, at least not yet, because her death was still too fresh in his mind for him to acknowledge it aloud yet.

"The only fingerprints that we found," Fountain said, "were hers and yours."

Caleb paused, trying to control the insane pounding of his own heart as he tried to think clearly through what the officer was saying. How was that even _possible_? They both used the knife at different times, but he hadn't used it in the days leading up to the murder, and certainly not to kill her.

"You _what_?"

"We tested the knife, and we ran it through the scan several times, and the results came up conclusively that only hers and yours were present on the blade itself. There's a 99.999% chance that it's someone else."

Caleb shook his head, trying to control his reactions the best that he could so he wouldn't give them more reason to judge him for something he had had _no_ part in. It was ridiculous to him, especially when he had given them an alibi that would be easily accounted for.

"We haven't used that knife in awhile," he said, shaking his head. "Not in the last few days-"

"DNA can last on an object for awhile," Fountain said, clearly trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, "which is why we need a blood sample from you so we can match it up with the blood found on the handle and the blade itself."

Caleb opened and then closed his mouth several times in horror. He had no idea what to do, if he should follow their orders and allow his blood to be taken, or wait until he had obtained some kind of legal representation.

It was horrifying that they were zeroing in on who they _thought_ murdered his wife, and it was him. Closing his eyes against the dizzying rush he felt in his head, he tried to think coherently enough to formulate a response to the craziness that had just assaulted his life once again.

"Should I have an attorney present for any of this?"

"Not unless you think it's necessary," Springer replied testily.

"I don't know _what_ to think," Caleb said. "What about the store? Did you go and talk to the employees?"

"We did," Springer said, "and they _did_ confirm that you were there up until right _before_ the murder took place."

"Excuse me?" he said incredulously.

"They said that you stepped out for a minute-"

"A _minute_," Caleb said, feeling his voice raise despite his efforts to control it. "A minute is not enough time to travel across town and _murder_ my wife!"

"But you could have called someone," Fountain pointed out, "which is what we're trying to figure out."

"I did not call _anyone_-"

It was devastating to him that someone in a position of authority—someone who held the power of making his life a living hell—as if it wasn't already, of arresting him and charging him with something that he had had no part in.

"A neighbor," Fountain said, as he leaned in close to Caleb, enough so that he leaned back, not liking the investigator getting so close to him, especially when he was on the verge of accusing him of murdering his wife and baby. "Heard you two arguing the day _before_ she died."

"That was a minor argument that we resolved."

"What was it about?"

"Me working longer hours. I was fed up because she had told me that she wanted me to work longer, and then when I finally got the job, she was upset because I wasn't home enough. I got mad, but we resolved it. No issues after that," he said, doing his best not to implode.

"Sometimes in a marriage, especially one that has stresses like a new baby or house, things can get strained," Springer said, "and we can help you out, we just need you to be honest."

"I am being honest."

"We still need an answer as to whether or not you will provide a blood sample for us."

"Fine."

They would get it out of him anyway, and not doing it at all would look even more suspicious than anything else. It was ridiculous, and as he rolled up his sleeve and let the nurse take the blood, he tried not to think about the hell that he was being subjected to.

"Thank you," Fountain said, once the nurse had left. "We should have the results back in the morning, and then we'll give you a call."

"Can I leave?"

"Yes."


	4. Chapter 4

It was unfair.

It was _brutal_.

It was malicious.

And it was _untrue._

The police had _no_ solid evidence to link him to Katie's death, and he knew it, but it didn't stop him from worrying what was going on inside the investigator's brains as they picked and sorted through the evidence at their disposal, trying to find a common link to thread all of the evidence together and use it to form a suspect that they could pin it on.

Unfortunately, the one person that they were going after, him, was the _wrong_ one. They were using all the evidence that they had gathered at the crime scene, his home, and using it to paint an ugly picture of him as the alleged attacker, and even going so far as to _doubt_ the credible alibi that he had of working that night.

It was completely devastating to have the emotional weight of being accused of murdering the love of his life on top of the emotional burden of having to endure going through with her funeral, the one and only chance that her friends and family had of gathering in her memory (and of their unborn child's) and saying goodbye to the life that she had, and the life that her baby never got to experience.

While it was something that Caleb _knew_ he had to do in order to have some form of closure in her death, even though he doubted such a word existed in his vocabulary, it was still painful to sort through their old photographs and videos, all while he waited for word from the detectives as to the status of the blood work they had done to compare blood found on the knife.

Hearing them request that, hearing them speak so suspiciously to him when he had asked whether or not he needed legal representation was just about the _hardest_ thing he could have endured on his own, but he squared his shoulders and tried to look them in the eye, knowing that he only partially succeeded on that count because he was so disgusted with how they were conducting themselves.

When his father had been an officer in their town, he had gone about his job with a firm, fair hand. He was _never_ one to engage in meaningless tactics used to intimidate a person. If he wanted answers and knew he could get them, he used procedures that had been tried and rewarded with great success, and without using fear techniques to get them.

It was hard to measure up his father—who had died years earlier from natural causes—and the bullies who were trying to insinuate that he had murdered his wife. They hadn't gone so far as to actually _accuse_ him of the crime yet, but they were getting close.

All they needed was the blood sample to either confirm or deny their ridiculous theory—whatever it was—and they were good to go in their eyes. If only they had the slightest inkling that they were targeting an innocent person, someone who had gone through the epitome of hell in the last day or so.

Looking down at a few more pictures of their wedding day three years previously, he tried to hold back the tears as he looked at how happy they both were, how in love and hopeful they were for a future that had barely even begun for them.

They were supposed to have done so much more with their time together, and it had been cruelly cut short. Trying _not_ to think about it in terms of that, he carefully looked at the pictures in his hand, trying to decide which ones would be appropriate to use for the video memorial her mother was planning.

Luckily Katie's parents had taken on much of the funeral planning, for which he was grateful. The only role he insisted on taking was making sure that the pictures and music that was showcased for the memorial, was representative of what _she_ liked, and what _she_ would have preferred, and luckily he had no shortage of her favorites to choose from.

A knock at the door brought his attention away from the task at hand. Not to his surprise, it was Jared. He had gone out earlier to get food for the night, but Caleb hadn't seen him since.

"Hey."

"Hey back," Caleb said, as he stood up, stretching out all the kinks in his back that sitting on a hardwood floor had produced. "Where have you been?"

"Out getting dinner."

"What time is it?"

"Around six."

"Oh, okay."

"What have you been doing?" Jared asked, looking down at the pictures that Caleb had sorted into piles, one that marked the negatives that he wouldn't be using, and the other pile that held the ones that he had deemed acceptable to show off.

"Going through about every single picture that I have of her, trying to decide which ones we can use at the memorial her Mom is planning."

It was incredible to Caleb that a person's whole life could be summed up in the things that they did, the objects that they left behind, and more importantly the memories and people that were still there. It was wonderful to have the mementos that he did, but right now, he had a hard time sharing in the beauty of them when it was all so fresh in his mind.

"Have you made any progress?"

"I think I'm through, actually."

"Good. What about the music?"

"I have some songs that she liked to dance around the house to. Those should be fine."

"Cool. Remember," Jared said, as he set his drink on top of the dresser. "When we were planning Mom and Dad's funeral? How we had to go through all the junk in their room to try to make something _useful_ to show off at the funeral?"

"Yeah," Caleb said with a smile. "The only things we had of Dad's were the guns and the handcuffs, but we had that baseball hat collection that we put on top of the casket."

"Yeah," Jared said with a laugh. "It was either that or the guns, and I don't think too many people would think that was appropriate."

"Probably not. With Mom, all she wanted us to do was play some music and show off some pictures."

"She was easy," Jared agreed. "You want a drink?" he asked, holding up his own as he took another pull from it.

As tempting as that offer sounded, Caleb knew that he had to at least _try_ to keep a somewhat level head while going through this horrible process. Reluctantly, he shook his head, denying the offer.

"No, thanks. I better not. Katie's mom wants me to go and look at caskets with her."

"Why?"

"Just because. She wants me to be involved in that process, I guess."

Even though he would have loved it if that part of it had been taken care of _without_ his input. but he guessed he shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, especially if her mother was still keeping in touch with him, and not buying what the police were trying to sell.

"Have you heard from the cops yet?"

"Not yet. They said either by late tonight or tomorrow they would have the results back from the blood work they took."

Jared shook his head incredulously. "What _exactly_ are they hoping to find from taking your blood?"

"They want to see if my blood matches up with the blood found on the knife."

"That's incredible."

"Tell me about it," Caleb said dryly.

It was dizzying, everything that had happened in such a short amount of time, and on top of the investigation that the police were conducting, he had to help her parents plan the funeral for someone who never should have died, who never should have gone out like she had. It was devastating, and as much as Caleb would have loved to have curled up in a ball and shut out the rest of the world for a few weeks, or years, he knew he couldn't.

Katie would have wanted him to soldier on and help in the planning of the service, and even though that was the _last_ thing he felt like doing, he did what he could and helped with whatever her mother needed his help in.

"What time do you have to go by the funeral home?"

"Later."

* * *

Trying to ignore the sickening roll of nausea that assaulted his senses as he walked through the overly immaculate reception area to wait with her mother while the employee got their appointment fitted in, he looked around at all the other people who were undoubtedly there for the same reason, but only with a different set of circumstances, most likely.

It was useless to attempt control over his fragmented emotions so he didn't, as he tried to be discreet with how often he allowed the tears to come down his face. No one there would judge him for that, but he hated that he even had to feel this way at _all_, that someone had taken her life and destroyed it in a single second.

"Katie's father is going to meet us later," her mother said, as she finally made conversation. They had both been silent, wrapped up in their own thoughts about the entire, ugly process.

"Okay," he said.

"Thank you for meeting me here and helping me with this."

"You're welcome."

"I know Katie would have wanted you involved in all of this, and I respect that."

"Thank you."

"You look tired," she remarked, as she closely examined Caleb's insomnia-ridden features.

"I haven't slept much. The police keep calling me and wanting me to go back in for interviews."

"What for?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said, not wanting to get into it with her while they were waiting for their appointment. "They said something about wanting to take blood from me to match it up with—with the weapon."

"Well," her mother said, squaring her shoulders determinedly. "We know in this family that you had _nothing_ to do with her death whatsoever."

"That means a lot," he said sincerely.

It certainly did—If the victim's own _parents_ were on his side, it might give the police a reason to look elsewhere instead of focusing all their energy on creating a phony case against him, one that didn't even _exist_ except in their deranged minds.

When they were finally called back to examine the different caskets that they could select for her viewing and burial, it was a hard thing for Caleb to reconcile in his brain, that he was actually being required to find a casket that would be suitable for his wife.

He and Katie had never talked about those things when they had been married—they were both young people and just starting out with their lives. He assumed, naturally, that they would have an entire lifetime to make those gruesome decisions about themselves, but certainly not at the _peak_ of their lives and when they were both so happy.

"This is the selection that we have," the attendant said, standing back awkwardly.

"Thank you," her mother said.

"When is the viewing?"

"In two days."

"Ah, well, it's a good a time as any to pick one-"

"Do you have somewhere else you need to be?" Caleb interjected, turning to face the overly perky man, who's attitude _certainly_ didn't fit the job description, and was only irritating him to no end.

"I'm sorry, yes. Please let me know when you have found something."

"We will," her mother said, taking it upon herself to smile apologetically at him for her son-in-law's rude behavior. "Caleb, what was that about?"

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, "but I can't stand being in this room, looking at the box that I'm expected to bury my wife and child in."

It was too soon for all of this—she had barely been dead _two days_ and they were already picking out the fine details for her funeral service.

"I know. I like this one," she said after a minute of quiet searching.

It was a simple oak casket. Caleb couldn't argue against it, and didn't want to. Anything that got the job done faster was good for him.

"Me, too."

"You want me to tell the man that we want this one?"

"Yes."

He would have said anything if it had meant that they would be able to leave that horrible place. It was all too much, and he was fully realizing that by the sick way that his head spun as he watched his mother-in-law sign the final sale papers, sealing the casket in their name, and giving Katie her final resting place.

* * *

Next up on the agenda was going to the coroners office to review her autopsy report that would definitively conclude how she had died, and in the manner in which she had passed, and then the family, her family, would be allowed custody of her body for burial later that week.

Caleb had been lucky to have not spent a lot of time inside coroner's office before this. When his parents had both died, the autopsy hadn't been necessary because they had both struggled with cancer in their later years, and other natural causes that had contributed to their deaths.

Walking inside the freezing cold reception area, he watched numbly as Katie's mother signed them in, before being told to wait for the medical examiner to come out and retrieve them. It was wrong, it all was. It couldn't be really happening that they were there to find out how she had died, and what had happened in her final moments, and to be honest, Caleb wasn't even sure he wanted to hear it.

When the portly man finally came out and got them, he tried to swallow back the roll of bile that was collecting in the back of his throat as he and Katie's mother followed him back down a series of sterile, white hallways until they reached the correct office.

"I'm Dr. Johnson, I performed the autopsy on your daughter, and your wife," he said, addressing both of them in one swoop.

"Do you know the cause of death?" Her mother asked, clearly trying to hurry the man along as best she could, and Caleb couldn't blame her. "I just don't want any unnecessary details," she explained.

"Of course," the man said, giving her a nod of respect. "We concluded that based on the marks on her body, and other contributing factors that Katie died from multiple, penetrating stab wounds. Some of the wounds to her abdomen and throat, would be fatal within seconds."

"So," Caleb said, choking on the words as he tried to think through the knowledge of what she had gone through, and it was absolutely horrifying. "She didn't suffer?"

"Not in my opinion. It was almost like the attacker wanted a victim, but didn't really care how he got it. The wounds were mostly all fatal, and death would have occurred fairly soon."

"What about her baby?" Katie's mom asked.

"The fetus-"

"Baby," Caleb corrected him quietly.

"I'm sorry. The baby was right in the way of the knife wounds to her abdomen. He or she would not have survived to be full term, and death happened almost instantly since they're so delicate in the early stages of pregnancy."

Caleb nodded. "Thank you."

After that, they had to sign some more papers to get custody of her body, and then they were finally able to leave. It was a welcome relief to Caleb, who was just glad to get the entire day over with as he returned to his brother's home.

"Hey," Jared said, who was lounging on the sofa, watching a big game on TV. "How did everything-"

"Crappy. We found the casket, and the medical examiner signed her body over to us."

"I'm sorry, dude."

"It's okay," Caleb said, as he took a seat beside him. "Any news here?"

"Yeah, actually. The police called again. They want to discuss the results of the blood test with you."


	5. Chapter 5

It was something that Caleb had both anticipated and dreaded with equal measure: finding out the results of the blood work that would either set him free from the ridiculous and overbearing police investigators, and confirm or deny their _asinine_ theories, or give them more of a reason to set their sights on him.

It didn't make _sense_—and that was what was most infuriating to him as he and Jared once again made the long drive back downtown to go to the precinct to find out the status of the investigation, and if it would be focused _away_ from him at that juncture, or have more of the same continue.

Trying to ignore the panic that he felt was absolutely _pointless_, as he tried everything he could think of to distract himself from walking back into that claustrophobic room and facing more of the same hell that he had already been subjected to.

Absently running a hand across his mouth, trying to do something physical to distract himself from the growing anxiety that he felt, he looked out over the town that he used to love, and couldn't even find that same beauty that he had once come to associate with it.

So many things had happened in that town that he would have gladly erased from his mind if he could—the most urgent and most pressing had been the murder of his wife and baby. It was definitely hard to find any peace or tranquility anymore.

If the worst possible thing happened and the police found a new reason to cast an even _brighter_ spotlight on him, he had no idea what he would do with that horrifying knowledge. What could he say to an enemy that refused to believe his version of events? And seemed to find a new way each day to put him through more torment?

When his brother made a sharp turn onto the section of road that led directly to the police station, Caleb sighed as he tried to brace himself for whatever crap the investigators would put on him then.

"You doing okay?" Jared asked, positioning one eye on the road and the other on his little brother.

"Depends."

"What do you mean?" he asked, arching an eyebrow in question.

"It depends on if they let me go after this is over, or if they keep finding new reasons to pin something on me that I had nothing to do with."

For nearly his entire life, he had been raised with the firm belief that the police were his friends, that they only wanted to help and protect them all from crime, and while he still partially believed that, it was hard to feel any warmth or love toward them when they were targeting him.

"The blood test should rule everything out," Jared said, shaking his head in incredulity at what his baby brother was being put through.

"And if it doesn't?" Caleb asked, raising a pointed eyebrow in question. "Either they let me go for lack of evidence, or they keep searching for something that connects me to the crime."

"And Katie's _real_ killer goes free," Jared said, not able to disguise the disgust that colored his tone.

Jared had been the best man at his wedding, and had gotten along exceptionally well with Katie, who had been raised as an only child, and so had seen Jared as more of a brother that she had never had. It was just as devastating for Jared, (especially when he saw how much pain his younger brother was in), as it was for Caleb.

"Exactly," Caleb said, shaking his head. "You would think they'd take off their pretentious glasses and see the situation for what it _really_ is."

"They think they have their guy, and they won't let you go for anything until they have another poor fool to pin everything on."

"I know."

Swallowing back the roll of bile that had collected in the back of his throat when Jared finally pulled into the chaotic parking lot of the police station, Caleb paused in his actions before taking off his belt and stepping out into the warm, afternoon air.

Even though he would have done anything if it meant not going inside and finding out the results, delaying the inevitable wouldn't get him far, and would only be that much harder later on when he finally had to face the music.

"Do you want me to go in?" Jared called, leaning across the console to address him.

"No, thanks. Just wait here, I guess, and I'll be out when I can."

"Okay."

He had no idea how long it would take to talk about the results, and defend himself against whatever accusations they had for him now, but he was hoping to wrap it up as quickly as he possibly could so he could go back home and crash.

Nearly the entire morning and afternoon had been spent going over final funeral arrangements for Katie, and then to come home and have this unwanted intrusion had been about the _last_ thing he had needed to have to deal with.

Walking inside the brightly lit entrance, he was almost immediately ambushed by the two investigators, who had no doubt been waiting for his arrival. That fact did little to ease the rapidly growing panic that he could feel growing inside him, as they showed him into a newer conference room.

He didn't know whether to take that as a _good_ sign, or as a _bad_ one.

Taking a seat where they directed him, he waited for whatever hell they were about to drop on him. It wasn't easy to wait as they quietly sorted through their files, as if knowing that they were keeping him in suspense, and enjoying that depressing fact.

"Okay," Springer said, "we got the results back from the lab that we sent the blood work to."

"And?" Caleb asked, "what did it say?"

As if there was any doubt in his mind that the results would come up with anything _but_ negative. There was no way that his blood had been on the knife, when he hadn't even picked it up in days.

"The results," Fountain said, giving him a careful look, as if to gauge his reaction. "Were inconclusive."

"Excuse me?" Caleb said blankly.

"They tested the handle where some of the blood was found, and then they tested the blade _itself_, and they couldn't figure out a good match."

That was surprising—and it was also relieving for Caleb—but he knew that it was far from over. The police would hammer their theory into the ground as long as they had a hope that they could pin it all on him.

"So what now?" he asked. "You want my arm to poke another needle in there?" he said, not able to keep the complete and utter _fury_ out of his voice as he shoved his arm across the table for them to see.

It was too much. Losing Katie in the most tragic and unbelievable of circumstances, and then have an almost immediate police investigation thrown onto his already overwrought shoulders. He honestly wondered how much more he could take before he completely cracked under the pressure of it all.

"They're going to retest the blood that they _do_ have," Fountain said, giving him what could only be described as an icy glare. "In the meantime, we have some other matters that we need to discuss."

"Oh, goody," Caleb said sarcastically.

Normally he would have _never_ behaved the way he was, especially in front of people that used to be his father's co-workers, but he was at the end of his rope with these people, and the way that they so blindly conducted their investigations.

"When our team entered the house," Springer said, "there were no signs of forced entry. Nothing was stolen or out of place, even. From what we were able to gather, it looks like whoever went in there that night, was someone that she knew."

Caleb shook his head. "It wasn't me, if that's what you're implying."

"More than fifty percent of homicide cases involve the spouse of the deceased. If nothing was stolen, then why would a person break into the house? Just for the sole purpose of murdering someone?" Fountain asked skeptically.

"I have no idea," Caleb said, "but I was at work when this happened."

"Did you," Springer said, slamming his hand onto the table top. "Call someone and have them go and murder your wife!"

"No!"

"Did you do it yourself, then?"

Caleb shook his head incredulously. They had _actually_ crossed that invisible line, and had just accused him of murdering his wife. It was devastating that they would think he was capable of doing something like that, when he was the last person who would ever even _think_ to do something that horrible, even in a bind or out of anger.

"How," Caleb said, having to stop himself as he raised a shaking hand to wipe his tears. "How could you even _say_ something like that to me right now?"

"Is it the truth?"

"No. I am on the verge of a complete breakdown. I haven't had any sleep in the last two or three days, and in the morning, I have to get up and go to her visitation, and then the next day, I have to _somehow_ summon up enough courage to go to her funeral."

"I'm very sorry about all that," Springer said, "but we need some answers."

"And I'm giving you everything I know! I told you I was working, the employees told you that, and then _somehow_ you put together the fact that I went outside for a _second_, and used that to spin some _ridiculous_ theory about how I could have called someone."

"Is that what happened?" Fountain demanded.

"No!"

"What happens," Springer said, taking a different approach. "If the blood work comes back positive?"

"Then it's just another area of this investigation that you two have completely botched," Caleb said honestly. "If all you're going to do is sit here and accuse me of something I had no part in, I need to leave right now."

Never before had he felt so angry in his entire life. These people had no idea what it felt like to be in his shoes, to experience the kind of pain and loss that he was going through, and then for them to accuse him of something so awful, was like a punch in the gut that he didn't need.

"We also need to discuss the autopsy report that the medical examiner's office completed today."

"I already went through that-"

"We need to discuss the _specifics_ of what it said," Fountain interjected, fixing steel eyes on the man sitting across from him.

Caleb shook his head, raising his hand to wipe more tears from his eyes. He had been lucky to avoid hearing a play by play of how she had died when he and her mother had gone to get custody of her body, but it seemed that these people were bound and determined to torture him in every way possible.

"I don't want to hear this," Caleb said. "I _know_ how she died, and I can't-"

"How did she die?" Fountain interjected, the implication clear in the words that he spoke to him.

"That's not what I _meant_!"

"In the report, it said that she had several stab wounds to her abdomen that were caused by a serrated kitchen knife, about three to four inches in length. That is _exactly_ what we found when our team scanned the scene."

"Please, don't make me listen to this-"

"And then it said that there had been no signs of a struggle, indicating that it was either a person that she knew, or the attacker knocked her out before killing her. No signs of a break-in, no personal property stolen."

"I told you what happened!"

"And we need more than that!" Fountain said. "There were also marks on her hands, indicating that she was scratched by someone. Can we see your hands right now?"

Caleb knew why they were requesting he show his hands—so they could compare the marks that had been on Katie's, and see if he had anything to match it, anything that would link him to the struggle she had put up for her life.

It was gut-wrenching to hear them speak so flippantly about her, as if she was a pawn in what they were trying to pin on him. Sighing deeply, he put his hands flat against the table for them to inspect.

Not to his surprise, there were zero marks on his hand, but he doubted they would feel the same way about it, as they had a photographer come in to mark it as evidence.

"You saw my hands," Caleb said, "there isn't _anything_ on them."

"Well," Fountain said, "we still need answers, and we aren't going to stop until we get them."

"They aren't going to come from me," Caleb said, beginning to stand up. "That's a promise, too."

* * *

His entire body was shaking as he walked out of the conference room and back out into the main area from which he had come. It had been one thing to be accused of the crime, but for them to make him listen as they recited her autopsy word for word, had nearly undone him right there.

"Did you hear about those two nut jobs?" one officer who was unrelated to the current investigation said, as he drank a cup of coffee with his partner.

"Yeah. Those two idiots who were posing as some of _our_ guys?"

"We got a trace on their car in case they're still in the area, but we caught them poking around looking at Katie River's autopsy reports, even caught 'em in the morgue a few days ago."

That stopped Caleb short as he tried his hardest not to be obvious about it as he hung by the entrance to the station. Two people had been snooping around his wife's body? And looking at her autopsy report? It made about as much sense to him as the police thinking he killed her, and while he would have gladly strangled anyone who dared peek at his wife, he had his doubts about the validity of the story.

"What did they look like?"

"Some rough and gruff type of guy with a ball cap, and some preacher-looking dude."

"Well, we'll find 'em. Especially if they have the nerve to come back again."


	6. Chapter 6

The morning of Katie's visitation dawned.

It was the last stopping point before her funeral the next day.

If it had been up to Caleb, he would have skipped the entire thing, but he knew there was no way he could do that, and have it still look okay for him, as he got on the outfit that he would don for the day, and tried his hardest to wipe away the tears before they made their unwanted appearance.

For Caleb, it was hard to believe that it had been almost five days since her murder. That entire time had gone by in a blur for him, especially with the harsh spotlight that the police were casting on him, and the never-ending worry that whoever had done the ugly deed, would be back for either him or his brother.

And now there was the issue of worrying over whoever had been dumb and brazen enough to go snooping around Katie's body, and even going so far as to look into the private, sealed files related to her case. It was odd, and it was _definitely_ something that Caleb wanted to look into, but not now, not when his heart was breaking apart at the seams.

Expertly tying his tie, he took one last look in the overgrown mirror that hung on the back door, feeling like a girl, but also not wanting to look sloppy for something so vitally important to both he and Katie's entire family.

So far, her family had refused to believe what the police were trying to say, and he was grateful for that. It was still terrifying as hell when he knew that they possessed the ultimate power of deciding whether or not to let him go as the evidence was collected.

Hoping against hope that there wouldn't be officers at the visitation, he went downstairs finally. He was carpooling with Jared, and Katie's family would meet them at the funeral home for the brief service. It was a chance for those that knew and loved her best to say goodbye, and while he knew that there would _never_ be any amount of goodbyes that would suffice it for him, he went along with it anyway.

"You ready?" Jared asked, looking up once he had come in.

"Yeah."

"Need help with your tie?"

"Nope," Caleb said, smiling a little as he recalled nearly every occasion that called for a tie, and Jared would be the one to step up and help his little brother out. That had been years ago, and Caleb had since learned to tie his own with perfect movements.

"Remember when I used to do yours all the time?" Jared asked, obviously thinking about the same memory as he and Caleb prepared to leave for the funeral home.

"Yeah, I do."

"Yeah," Jared mused quietly. "Good times. Have you heard anything more from the detectives?"

"Not so far. They're retesting the blood that they took from me already, and seeing if they can't come up with a more definitive conclusion."

"Right. What happens if, by some stretch of a bad fortunate, it comes out positive?"

"I guess we deal with the fallout, don't we?" Caleb replied, as he slid into the driver's seat.

The last thing he felt like thinking about was the impossible outcome of the blood work coming back positive for his blood on the knife. It would give the cops more than enough ammo to arrest and charge him with her murder, and that thought made him sick to his stomach.

"What if part of that 'fallout' is _you_ in an orange jumpsuit?" Jared asked, knowing that, as his brother, he was allowed certain leeway when it came to interrogating his brother about some things.

"I don't want to think about that right now," Caleb said, as he rested his hand underneath his chin. "I have enough going on right now as it is."

"Of course."

Mentally slapping himself for pushing it, Jared remained quiet as he scanned the different diners and bars that lined their part of the town. These were places that he and his brother had grown up eating in, but those places had never looked more unappealing.

"Did I tell you what happened during my chat with the dicks?" Caleb asked, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over the car.

"The cops?"

"Yeah."

"No, what?"

"They yelled at me, I yelled back. They accused me of murdering Katie," Caleb said, as he looked down at his wedding ring. "Then when all was said and done, when I was walking out of the building, I heard these two cops talking about how some losers were poking around Katie's stuff."

"What do you mean?" Jared asked, turning his head briefly to look at him, confusion written as clear as day on his soft features.

"Some idiots were caught in the morgue where she was up until yesterday, and then they caught some files that were missing from their registry."

"Are you _kidding_?" Jared demanded incredulously.

"Nope. They have a visual on them, and they know what kind of car they were bumping around in, but they haven't made contact yet."

"Do you think you should be worried?"

Caleb shook his head. "I have enough on my plate as it is without being worried about two jerks who were violating my wife's privacy."

It was true—once the visitation was over, he would have the day to rest before being expected to attend her funeral the next morning. In a way, it would be a relief to have that part of it over with, and he would be able to have a proper chance to grieve, but in another way, it only solidified her death, and that was something he wasn't sure he was ready to accept yet.

"That's true. Are you at all ready for this?" Jared asked, as he pulled into the crowded parking lot of the funeral home.

"Hell no."

It was something he would have to endure for his own sanity—and for the obligation that he felt toward Katie—but he couldn't wait until the last guests left, and he was able to mourn her in private like he had wanted to do all along, but had been unable to because of the pressure the cops were putting on him.

Inside, the room that would be hosting the viewing, wasn't overcrowded like he had originally feared. A good number of people had turned out for this, and he was grateful, because from the looks of it, it was only the people who had known her best, and not some idiots who were there to make a story out of it.

As predicted, Katie's parents were there, along with several members of her family that he either didn't know too well, or hadn't met at all in the three or so years that he had been lucky enough to be married to her. Giving those people as gracious a welcoming as he could, his main focus was gauging her parent's reactions to the police, and what they were undoubtedly informing them about their son-in-law.

"Caleb," her father said, coming up and giving him a warm hug. "I heard that you were a big help in...in helping arrange some of her funeral and visitation."

It was obvious her father was struggling just as much as the rest of them—and why wouldn't he? He had just lost his only child, and to the most tragic and unbelievable of circumstances. It would be hard for _anyone_, and in that moment, all Caleb could feel was sorrow and pity for this man.

"I did what I could," Caleb said honestly.

"Well, thank you. I know that Katie would have been appreciative, too."

"I hope so."

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask him about whether or not he truly believed the stories that the police were telling them about him, but he decided against it. They were acting perfectly normal and nice to him, and he decided not to rock the boat by bringing it up.

Walking away from them, he almost went over to the casket where her body was, but chickened out. He wanted to be able to have a somewhat private moment with her before her burial, and knew that it would have to wait until most of the guests had cleared out before doing it.

Jared was mingling with some of the other guests. Caleb was glad that part didn't have to fall solely on his shoulders, and that he was helping him out with it some.

It was when he spotted too unfamiliar faces in the crowd, that his entire body went rigid with the unbridled fury that he felt at everything that had happened recently. It was two men, ones that fit the rough description that he had overhead the cops giving each other.

If it was really them, he had no idea what he planned on doing. It wasn't like he wanted to make a scene at Katie's visitation, but these two jerks were crossing the line by snooping through her personal files, her body, and then to come to her visitation?

Walking away from the couple that he had distractedly engaged in conversation, he made his way over to them. They were standing at the edges of the room, quietly observing everything that was going on, and that made him even more furious.

"Excuse me," Caleb said, interrupting the hushed conversation that they had been having. "Hi."

"Hello," the preacher-looking man said, as he nodded politely at him.

"Hi," the rough and gruff one said.

"I don't mean to be rude," Caleb said, "but who the hell are you people?"

The two men had the nerve to appear surprised, and the rougher looking one even took a step toward him, as though he was intending on punching him out in a room full of people.

"Who are _you_?" he demanded, while the gentler one placed a restraining hand on his arm.

"Bobby, not here," he said quietly. "I'm sure there's been some misunderstanding," he added, turning to Caleb.

"I don't think so. I'm Katie River's husband, Caleb, and while I was in the station being interrogated for the second or third time that week, I overhead them talking about two guys poking around my wife's body, and files and you match their descriptions."

It was obvious he had struck a nerve—the rough one even looked guilty for his initial response, while the older one wore an expression of sympathy for what he was going through.

"We're-" the one named Bobby began.

"We're detectives," the older one said, giving Bobby a look as though they were in on some secret that Caleb had no idea about.

For a second, all Caleb could do was stare at them incredulously, as though they _really_ expected him to be stupid enough to fall for something so completely ridiculous. It only increased his distrust of these people, and why they were _really_ there to begin with.

"You know, that's funny," Caleb said, doing his best to keep his voice at an even level so he wouldn't alarm the other guests. "Because my _father_ used to be a police officer, and that meant that we had a rotation of detectives and PI's in our house because of him, and you two don't look like anyone I've ever seen before."

"Listen-" the kinder one began.

"No. Why don't _you_ cut the bullcrap, and tell me the damn truth!"

The two men paused, obviously considering the best angle to approach him from. It was infuriating to Caleb, who had dealt with all that he could deal with, and was now having to deal with two men who had the nerve to lie to his face, and go snooping around his wife's body, and her medical reports.

"Okay, my name is Jim," Jim said, "and this is Bobby. It _is_ true that we're investigating the death of your wife."

"But why?" Caleb asked, shifting his stance. "What _possible_ interest would you have in that?"

"Because we think that someone murdered her-"

"Well, duh," Caleb said, rolling his eyes in irritation. "She didn't stab _herself_ with that damn knife."

"We think that something unnatural caused her to die," Bobby said, not bothering to beat around the bush anymore, as he ignored the look of warning that Jim passed over to him, no doubt concerned that he was revealing too much too soon.

"What do you mean?" Caleb asked, raising an eyebrow.

"There are things in this world that we can't really explain," Bobby said quietly, so as not to attract the attention of curious bystanders, "and it's one of those things that we think killed her."

"What?" Caleb said blankly. "No offense or anything, but you're making about as much sense as the cops thinking I killed her, which makes absolutely _no_ sense."

"There are evil beings and entities out there," Jim said, taking over from where Bobby had left off. "Demons, spirits, and there are people that fight them, like we do."

"And we think that one of those things killed her."

Now Caleb was _sure_ that he had heard it all. If he wasn't so shocked and infuriated at what they were spouting out to him, he was sure he would have laughed in their faces. As it was, he was having a hard time restraining himself from following through with his original plan of punching them for their unwanted intrusion.

"You know what?" Caleb said, his voice shaking despite his best efforts to control himself. "I have been through _hell_ the last few days, and the last thing I need is you two idiots feeding me a line of bull. I don't need this from anyone right now, especially the people who are poking their noses where it's not wanted."

"I'm sorry," Jim said, "but you wanted the truth, and this is what it is."

"For you it is. Not for me. Demons and spirits don't exist."

Only in horror movies and bad literature, but certainly not in real life. The last thing he needed was these two guys giving him some phony excuse as to why they were poking around things they had no business being in. It was upsetting, sure, but he was more angry than anything.

"They do," Bobby said, "if you want, we can-"

"I don't want anything from you," Caleb interrupted. "All I want is for you to turn and walk out those doors, or else I'm calling the cops."

At least they would serve one purpose in ridding him of these people who seemed bound and determined to make him believe some ludicrous story about monsters and ghosts being real.

"Okay," Jim said, "we're leaving, but in case you ever need us, or if something else happens, here's my number. We'll be in town a few more days."

Silently accepting the piece of paper with his name and number on it, Caleb pocketed it, fully intending on disposing of it once he got home.


	7. Chapter 7

In many ways, Caleb was grateful that the visitation ceremony was over with. It had been hard enough standing there, greeting complete strangers, while fending off those strange men who had seemed bound and determined to feed him some crap about monsters and ghosts being _real_, and that was what had killed Katie.

It was ludicrous, even to him, and while he had been sorely tempted to carry out his threat of calling the cops, he wasn't sure he would wish them on his worst enemy at the moment, and those two were getting close to being on that list.

Like he had promised himself, when the last of the guests had finally left the spacious room of the funeral home that the service had been conducted in, he allowed himself a private moment with her. It was something that he had wanted to do, especially after all the other people had left, and while it had been gut-wrenching to look at her face, and realize that she was really gone and not coming back, it had been just the slightest bit healing for him as he slipped her wedding ring back on her finger.

The coroner had taken it off after receiving her body, and while she wouldn't be needing it in life anymore, he wanted for her to have it with her, to treasure it like she had treasured it when he had put it on her finger three years before.

Sleep was a foregone impossibility that night, as Caleb tossed and turned in bed. The funeral service for Katie was coming up in a few, short hours, and while he was relieved that the visitation ceremony was over and done with, it didn't erase the pressing ache of longing and mourning that her funeral would undoubtedly bring up in his heart, as he pressed his pillow tightly against his head, hoping against hope that he would be granted some measure of peace before the sun rose, eliminating any further chances of freedom.

When he was finally able to nod off and obtain the sleep that he had been craving since lying down all those hours earlier, he was jolted back to awareness by the cruel ringing of the alarm that he had set to wake up early enough to get ready.

Groaning in displeasure at the rude awakening, he reached over and turned it off, hoping that maybe he could salvage what little rest he had left, and return to the dreamworld that he had been so joyfully experiencing before the alarm.

It was impossible though. Once he was awake, it was rare that he _ever_ got the chance to calm down enough to return to sleep. Rolling over on his side to face the clock again, he was stunned to see that it was nearly seven.

Katie's service didn't start until nine, but that only gave him two hours to get ready and put on the outfit that he had selected for the occasion, even though he would have gladly _burned_ the entire outfit rather than wear it to his wife's funeral.

Shaking those thoughts out of his mind, he numbly got up from the bed, not bothering to make it, as he stepped out of the guestroom that had been his home for the last few days. The bathroom light was on, signaling that either Jared was in it, or he had had forgotten to switch it off during the night.

Deciding not to risk another embarrassing incident like had happened in years past, he continued on his trek down the stairs, and into the kitchen where Jared had already made a steaming pot of coffee for his consumption.

Out of everyone in his family, it was _he_ who lived for the caffeinated beverage. It gave him that much needed extra boost on the _best_ of days, and on days where he was barely lifting one foot in front of the other, it was an absolute lifesaver for him, as he eagerly poured himself a generous amount.

Exhaling deeply as the searing hot liquid migrated down his throat, he was brought out of the somewhat peaceful state that he had been reveling in, by the appearance of his brother. Jared had jumped the gun on him, and had already gotten dressed ahead of time for the service.

"Morning," Jared said, as he walked past him to pour himself a cup.

"Hey," Caleb said, his voice raw from the tiredness that he was still feeling as he watched his brother's movements.

"Sleep good?"

"Nah," Caleb said, shaking his head. "Too much on my mind."

"Same here. I thought the visitation went okay last night," Jared said, after a minute.

"I did, too. I saw those two guys there, though."

"The ones that the cops were talking about?" Jared asked, swiveling around to face Caleb.

"Yeah. They fed me some bull line about how big scary monsters are _real_," Caleb said with a laugh, "and a bunch of other crap. I told 'em to leave or else I would call the cops on them."

"Wow," Jared said under his breath. "To make a scene like that at something so important..."

"I know. If I wasn't so pissed at the cops right now, I'd probably call them."

"Have you heard back from them yet?"

The last time Caleb had spoken with the two investigators who were spearheading the efforts to solve Katie's murder, they had flat-out accused him of murdering her, and even when presented with credible proof that exonerated him, they refused to believe it until they had the blood evidence that would either obliterate their case, or strengthen it.

Caleb refused to believe the ugly alternative of the happy ending that he was envisioning, that the cops would get the results back and they would be positive for his blood on the blade that had been used to kill his wife. If they got those kinds of results back, Caleb knew that they would have all they would need to charge him, and it made him want to throw up.

"Not yet. They said that the retest might take a few days or so."

"Hard to believe," Jared mused softly, "that people that we were raised to believe only the best in, have turned out to be our _enemies_."

"They dropped the ball with this one. They refuse to believe that someone _else_ could have killed her," Caleb said, shaking his head incredulously, "and now they may just get someone innocent."

It was awful and it was unfair, but he knew that since the police had no other viable leads to pursue, they had set their sights on him, the last person to have seen her alive, and the one who they thought had something to answer for.

"But," Jared said, scrambling for a way to refute what his brother was implying. "They would be getting someone _innocent_, like you said, someone who had no part in what happened to Katie-"

"Yeah," Caleb said, standing up, "and apparently that doesn't matter. Innocent or not. As long as they have a reliable story they can feed to the vultures out there who want to know what happened."

Caleb wasn't blind—he knew how their town worked, and how it thirsted for answers when something unexpected like this happened, and as unfair as it was, they often wanted to believe that they were safe again, and so would accept whatever the police told them.

Even if it was a complete lie to cover the fact that they weren't smart enough to find the real killer responsible.

"Wow," Jared said quietly. "When you put it like that..."

"I know. So either we get through this funeral, and there's a brightly lit road at the end of the tunnel, or we crash land into something else entirely."

"Just so you know, I have your back through this. We'll work this out somehow."

"Thanks. It means a lot."

It really did. He needed all the support that he could possibly get, even if it was coming from someone who was supposed to believe in him, it was still comforting to know that he wasn't alone in this brutal fight that the cops had landed on him.

"You ready to start getting ready?" Jared asked, finally finding a way to beat the awkward silence that had fallen over them.

"Yeah."

The weather was nice as they departed for the church. It contrasted horribly with the mood that everyone seemed to share in common as Caleb, Jared and various members of theirs and Katie's family sat together at the front.

It was something that she would have loved, seeing them all together, and Caleb tried to remember that the best he could while he listened to the loving and accurate way in which the preacher spoke about her, highlighting only the best qualities about her, and only very briefly touching on the fact that she had died through homicide.

"I ask," the preacher said, as he closed his speech. "That you not remember the way in which Katie left us, but that you remember the amazing life that she led, with the people that knew and loved her the most.

I also ask that you keep her family in your thoughts and prayers," he said, directing his gaze over at Caleb and Katie's family. "They have suffered not only the loss of their 'beautiful girl', as her husband called her, but also a child that never got to see us or experience this world, but got to ascend with his or her mother into eternal peace."

It was a relief when the service was done, and the music had stopped playing, as beautiful as it was. The preacher had said all the right things, and the people that had come up to deliver their eulogies of her, had all been spot-on with their recollections and stories, but it was a relief to have that part of it over with as they moved on to the final part of the morning, her burial.

They had chosen a plot that would sit right next to Caleb's when he eventually passed. It was something that he had requested, and something that had come together at the last minute due to the fact that he and Katie had never talked about plots during their marriage.

It was absolutely fruitless to try to hold back his tears, as the casket was gently lowered into the ground, after a few more words from the preacher. It was the most ridiculous thing to him, but as he watched the casket being lowered, he felt a panic for Katie, that she would be alone down there.

Of course she wasn't present in body anymore, and he tried to remember that as he and her family each picked up dirt and threw it on top of her casket, symbolizing so much in that gesture, but most importantly, their unity and togetherness as a family.

When all was said and done and the service had officially wrapped up, he tried to find some measure of comfort in the fact that she could finally rest in peace, but he couldn't. Not when he had a hard time letting go of how she had died, and the increasing guilt that he felt at not being there for her like he felt he should have been.

* * *

Grateful to be allowed to go back home with his brother, he wasted no time in taking off the hot clothes that he had been in during much of the morning, and took a long and satisfying shower to stave off the nausea that he could feel coursing through his veins.

Next up was indulging in as much rest as he could possibly get, as he collapsed on top of the bed that had sustained him through a lot the last few days, enabling him to rest and attempt to forget the harshness of the world, and what it had to offer him lately.

To his surprise, he was able to return to the world of sleep fairly easily. Either his body had been holding out on him while it put him through the natural, painful grieving process, or the exhaustion had finally won over everything else.

Either way, he didn't fight it as he pressed the pillow tightly to his side, and allowed the process to happen naturally. When he woke, it took him a second to realize that he had actually managed to obtain meaningful sleep instead of the odd hour or two that he had gotten every now and again.

Rolling over on his side, he glanced over at the clock, and saw that it was nearly four. It had been hours since he and Jared had returned home from the service for Katie, and while it had been something he had needed in order to find some amount of peace, it had been an emotionally exhausting day (and week).

Getting up from the comforts of the bed that he had previously enjoyed, he made the short trek downstairs. The TV was going in the living room, Jared was watching some ballgame that had apparently long ago lost his interest, but was too tired (or lazy) to switch it to something else. Plopping down next to him, Caleb took possession of the remote as he switched it to something that better suited his tastes.

"I was watching that," Jared remarked, though the bite that would have normally been present in his tone, was nowhere to be seen.

"You were drooling," Caleb shot back, as he settled on a wrestling game.

"What can I say? It was riveting," Jared said, allowing a small, teasing smile to cross his features.

This was something they both had missed—the teasing and fun that used to dominate most of their relationship as brothers. Even though Jared, as the older brother, had been obligated to give his little brother a hard time growing up, most of it had been in good fun, and never anything serious.

"My ass," Caleb said, shaking his head.

"So are you glad that it's over with?"

"What? The funeral?"

Jared nodded. "Yeah."

"In a way. I won't have to think about the arrangements, and having to listen to people come up to me and tell me what a wonderful person she was, and most of them hadn't seen her in decades."

"I know what you mean. Anything from the cops yet?"

It was the elephant in the room that Caleb wished desperately would go away. It didn't help that they had piled so much pressure on his shoulders right in the midst of him preparing for his wife and child's memorial service.

"Not yet."

He didn't know whether to take that as a good sign, or as a bad one. They were retesting the blood that they had already gathered from him, but it was the results of that test that he was worried about. If it came back positive, which seemed impossible to him, that his blood had been on the blade of the knife used to kill Katie, the cops would probably have all they needed to make an arrest.

And even though _he_ knew that there was no way his blood had been anywhere near that knife, it didn't mean that the police wouldn't find the same results, and would use that to his detriment.

It was scary, the waiting game, and though he was dreading hearing some more bad news come from their pretentious mouths, it was almost preferable to sitting around and waiting for the next bombshell to drop.

"What do you think about that?"

"I don't know what to think. If I should be freaked, or be counting my blessings."

It was that instant that the phone rang. Giving his brother an incredulous look, Caleb hesitantly picked it up. After listening to what the person on the other end had to say, he hung up.

"What?" Jared asked, catching the look on his face.

"They have the results."


	8. Chapter 8

It was impossible _not_ to panic at the idea that the police had the blood test results back, and ready for him to hear. They had tormented him over the last several days with the knowledge that all they needed, was that crucial go-ahead from the lab, and they would be free to take the case one step further.

It was fruitless to attempt to distract himself as he and Jared made the trip, once again, back downtown to the police station so that Caleb could hear the final results. It was ridiculous, the spotlight that they had cast on him, but he knew that it was only because they didn't have any other viable leads, and so that automatically put _him_ in that unwanted spot, and made _him_ the person everyone looked at and thought of when they contemplated who killed Katie.

Shaking his head in simple disbelief at the drastic turn his life had taken, he reached over and turned up the air conditioning in the car. It was probably only him, but the car seemed to resemble the feel of an oven, even though it was chilly outside, a reflection that was clear as day inside the car.

It was a result of his shattered nerves.

Nerves that had put their owner through the epitome of _hell_ the last week, and seemed determined to keep it going. Nothing compared though, to the trip his mind gave him as it constantly bombarded him with images of what could happen when he walked inside the stuffy conference room that the detectives had used as their base of operations for interrogating him.

Either the results would be clean, and he would be off the hook for something that he had absolutely _no_ part in to begin with, or the results would come back dirty and the cops would have even _more_ of a reason to look deeper into him.

Though in his heart of hearts, Caleb knew that the results _had_ to be clean. There was no way that his blood was on the handle, the blade, or anywhere near the knife at all, because he hadn't picked it up with bloody hands, and he certainly hadn't used it to kill his wife, like the police kept fantasizing he did.

And if by some incredible miscarriage of justice there _was_ blood on the handle that matched his, he was seriously beginning to wonder if the cops weren't just desperate enough to plant it there, to arrest the most likely suspect so that the town would stop badgering them for answers that they _didn't_ have.

It was those thoughts running through his already crowded brain that he focused on, as he watched the landmarks in their town rush past them. The statue in the park that used to be the destination of a _thousand_ different clandestine makeout sessions between the youth and their respective, significant others, and the different buildings that were as historical as anything else.

The courthouse and the library being two of the most important because of the history associated with it. Back before they were first built, in ancient times, several wars had happened between their ancestors and when all was said and done, the land was marked as the site that a great battle had happened, and as a memorial to the fallen, two respectable buildings had been erected on that site.

The police station and the courthouse.

Back when he was a carefree, idiotic teenage boy, Caleb had actually found some of the history surrounding his town, fascinating. It was weird to know that some of the more _unbelievable_ things that had happened to his ancestors, had _really_ happened, and in his own town, too.

Now he found none of it appealing anymore. The same stories that used to enamor Caleb, no longer did. They had been passed down from friend to friend, relative to relative that he had heard it so many times he wanted to throw something across the room when it was brought up.

Now the same town that he used to love, was only causing his life to become a living nightmare. Instead of the sense of love and support that he had grown to expect from the police, especially since his father used to be one of them, he had only been looked upon with suspicion and interrogated like he was a criminal, ones that his father used to bring in all the time.

And the hardest part for him, was that there was nothing he could do to dissuade them from their skewed opinion of him. The cops had a firm view of the world and how it operated, and that was clearly in black and white, no room for any other colors, no room for any other possibilities.

Once they zeroed in on a possible suspect or person of interest, it was nearly impossible for them to change that opinion that they had of someone. To his knowledge, he was the only one they had looked at, the only one who they thought showed motive, (whatever _that_ was), and had something to answer for.

Switching his one leg over the other, he looked over at his brother. Jared, who was normally a lot more relaxed and carefree than this, looked positively terrified for his baby brother, and the horrible position he was being put in by the police.

His knuckles were chalk white against the steering wheel as he turned onto the quiet street that led to the police station. It was a journey that they had all embarked on several times before, especially when their father had been alive, and he had taken them in for the odd father/son day.

Back then, it was fun.

Seeing all the officers, getting to test out the sirens and the various equipment that they relied on to keep them safe from harm. Now, all Caleb could feel was contempt for that place, and the hell that they insisted on putting him through.

"Okay," Jared said, once he had pulled into an empty parking spot near the front entrance. "You want me to go in with you?"

It had become the standard question with which he had approached Caleb with when they had to make the all too familiar drive there, and while his brother normally shot him down, he was wondering if he would feel more inclined to have him go with him.

"No, it's good," Caleb said, after a pause, as though he had been considering having him go in with him. "Just—just stay here or go home, and I'll call you."

"No, I'll stay here."

"Okay."

"Wait," Jared said, as he watched Caleb about to step out of the car. "Are you _sure_ you don't want me to call someone?"

"Like who?"

Who could _possibly_ be strong enough to help them out of this legal nightmare that they had been thrust into? It made no sense to _him_, and he doubted that any attorney would be able to make much more sense of it than _he_ already had.

"An attorney or someone that knows their way around this crap?"

"It won't make a difference right now. If we hire one now, we run the risk of them suspecting that I actually _have_ something to hide."

Not that he had any doubt that that was _exactly_ what they were thinking, but he didn't want to give them more ammo for which to judge him with. He would wait until he absolutely had no other choice, before finding one.

"I know, but they can give us our options. Tell us what we need to be doing differently."

"You can call one if you want," Caleb said, checking the time on his watch, and realizing that he had to be in there in a minute. "I have to go in, though. I'm supposed to meet them at three."

"Okay. Just don't let them intimidate you."

"I'll try," Caleb said with a short laugh, as he slammed the car door before walking inside the large building. He had walked in there so much the last few days that he was even becoming familiar with the one that was most often manning the main phone lines, and the guards that patrolled the area on a regular basis.

Once he stated his name and reason for being there, he was told to go and wait over by the seating area, which he declined, in favor of leaning against the rough and uncomfortable pole that was situated right in the middle of the room.

Even if he had been able to calm his frazzled nerves enough to go and sit down someplace, he doubted he would have long to wait, anyway. It wasn't unusual for the two investigators to come out and get him almost immediately after he arrived, which was what he was hoping for today.

The less time he had to wait and contemplate the results, the better.

"Thank you for coming back in," Springer said, as he came out and shook his hand. "My partner is waiting in the room, if you want to go back with me?"

Like hell he didn't, but it wasn't as though he had another choice to choose from. Reluctantly, he followed him down the main drag, around a corner and into the same type of conference room that they had conducted most of their meetings so far.

Fountain was waiting for them—his arms crossed over his chest, as he waited for Caleb to come in and for Springer to shut the door behind them. Taking a seat at his usual spot, Caleb waited for one of them to begin speaking.

It was nerve-wracking to wait for these results, and know that they could hold the key as to whether or not he would be off the hook for a murder he never committed, or just give the police more of a reason to look into him.

"We got the results back from the crime lab," Fountain began, as he sorted through the file that Caleb knew contained the answer to the question that he wasn't even sure he _wanted_ to know.

"And?" Caleb prompted, raising an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"The blood work," Springer said, clearly taking on the role of "good cop." "Came back positive for your blood on the blade."

For a second, Caleb wasn't sure he had heard them right. There _had_ to have been a mistake, or he had heard them wrong and had mistaken those words for the pounding of his own heart, which was getting to the point where it was almost painful.

Swallowing back the roll of vomit in the back of his throat, once he was aware of their expressions, and how they had hardly changed from when they had made the announcement and now, Caleb felt sick. They were telling the truth, or their own distorted version of it, anyway.

"What-" he found himself saying, struggling to formulate the words needed to make conversation with these people who had made his life a living nightmare, on top of everything else that he had to deal with that week. "What do you mean?"

"When our lab conducted the retest," Fountain explained, not being nearly as affable as his partner was being. "It came back positive for _your_ blood on the blade that was used to kill your wife, Katie Rivers."

Caleb felt sick to his stomach as he turned his head away from their inquiring gazes to wipe the stray set of tears that had once again clogged his senses. It was too much, all of it was, and even though he felt like he had been thinking that over and over, it was true.

It was all too much to lose his wife, then be the target of a police investigation, have them accuse him of murdering her, and now hearing the absolutely devastating news that his blood had been on the handle of the blade.

Somehow.

In his heart of hearts, he had _truly_ believed that the blood results would end the sick crusade that the cops had taken against him, and that he would be free from their prying, judgmental gazes, but he had been wrong.

"I—I don't know what to say," Caleb finally said, his voice breaking. "I didn't kill her. I didn't use that knife to kill her, because I wasn't _there_. Why won't you people believe me when I tell you this?"

"Because," Springer said, taking on a calmer, gentler approach with him, that was in stark comparison to his partner's harsh and often unforgiving attitude. "We _want_ to believe you, we do, but there are some things that don't quite line up right now."

"Like _what_?" Caleb said, not able to keep the venom out of his tone as he fixed his eyes on him.

"The blood evidence, for one thing. How could _your_ blood be on the blade if you didn't use it?"

"I don't know," Caleb said, his hand shaking as he raised it to swipe it across his eyes again. "I can't explain it. I don't know _why_ that's on there, but I was _not_ there."

"Why did you step outside while you were working that night?" Fountain asked.

"For a break," Caleb said. "I was given my break, and I went outside to take a breath, that's it."

"How long was your break that night?"

"Twenty minutes. I didn't leave the store, though. I went outside and I walked around for a minute, but I never left the lot!"

Of course he could have had it done through other means, and that was what he knew they were thinking, and it made him want to throw up all over again.

"Did you call someone to do it?" Springer asked quietly, obviously trying to get Caleb to trust him and open up to him more. "We can help you, and I'm not lying, either. You have a clean record, no prior arrests for anything. We can cut you a deal, but we _need_ you to be honest."

"I _am_ being honest," Caleb said, his voice shaking. "I _never_ called anyone."

"Then how did your blood end up on the knife?" Fountain asked incredulously, as he traded looks with Springer. "It didn't just magically appear there, did it?"

"I don't know, but it wasn't from me."

At least he could say that and be one hundred percent sure that he was telling the truth. He had no idea who had planted the blood evidence on the knife, but he knew beyond a shadow of anything, that he had never raised that knife to harm her.

Not that that knowledge would suffice for the police, who seemed determined to believe that it was him, that he had done something to Katie, and with the evidence right there in front of them, he almost couldn't blame them for jumping to conclusions like they were.

"We have a hard time believing that," Fountain said, rejecting his statement.

"I don't care," Caleb said honestly. "I know the truth, and I would rather _die_ than raise a hand to that woman."

It was undoubtedly the same story that they had heard from _thousands_ of other people in the same spot, but the only difference was was that _he_ was telling the truth. It wasn't a lie to cover his ass, or anything of the sort, it was the plain and simple truth that he was speaking to them from.

"We have the blood, and we have the other DNA evidence that proved that yours and hers were on it. No one else," Springer said. "Now tell us again about the fight that you and Katie had the day before she died."

Caleb sighed, not even believing that they were expecting him to rehash _one_ fight that they had the morning before she died. It had been one argument that hadn't even gotten _that_ heated, and had blown over by the time he had returned home.

"We were fighting-"

"About your new job, right?" Fountain said.

"Yes. She had wanted me to get more money, so I put in for a position that would get me in that spot, and once I got it, she was unhappy because of how much time I spent away from home."

"And the argument was about that?" Springer asked, writing something down in his notes.

Caleb nodded. "Yes. She said stuff she regretted. I said stuff I regretted. I left, and then by the time I came back home that night, everything was fine between us."

"And then the next night was when she died," Fountain said. "So you're saying you never called anyone, right?"

"Yes."

"And you never killed her?"

"No."

"Well," Fountain said, shaking his head as he pinched the bridge between his nose and eyes. "There's no other way to explain the blood on the knife. None. We ran it through _twice_, and we got the same results every single time."

"Then maybe _you're_ the ones doing something wrong," Caleb suggested, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Springer said, shaking his head. "We just got our new technology for testing this stuff, and it's been tried and proven to be an affective way of identifying DNA and blood evidence."

Caleb could feel his heart thundering in his ribcage as he listened to what they were saying, even though none of it made sense to him. It was ridiculous that they would honestly assume something so horrible about him, especially when he had a rock solid alibi to back up his claims.

Though the blood on the knife was the _one_ thing they couldn't get past, and in a way, he understood, even though he was terrified of what they would do with this new knowledge.

"We know where that blood came from," Fountain said, after a minute of silence. "We know that your blood was on it, and we know that the knife came from the kitchen."

"Good for you," Caleb said harshly.

"We also know," Springer said, "that there were no signs of forced entry, meaning that Katie probably knew her attacker and let them in, or the person was able to go in."

"That wasn't _me_," Caleb said, as a single tear slid down his cheek.

"And then we have the fact that nothing was stolen or taken from the house, meaning that it was more of a personal, crime of passion situation, than a robber breaking in and seeing her and then killing her."

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you this, or in what _language_ I need to say it in, but I did _not_ hurt her," Caleb said, hating the fact that he was getting so emotional in front of them, but also not able to control it.

"But you see," Springer said, trying to reason with him. "The evidence that _we_ have, says differently. I'm not saying that you _wanted_ to hurt her, but maybe you were having a fight, and it got out of control?"

"I would never hit her. Not in a fight, not ever."

It sounded like he had said the _exact_ same thing over and over again, and while it was as absolutely true as the _first_ hundred times he had said it, they _still_ didn't seem to believe him, and the new evidence that seemed to frame him for the crime, only heightened their unreasonable suspicion.

"You need to stop lying," Fountain said. "You're only digging yourself in deeper."

"I am _not_ a liar," Caleb said, doing his best to maintain steady eye contact with them, even though his posture was crumbling with the fear and the pressure that they were putting him under. "I would never hurt her, not ever. I don't care what the evidence says, because _I_ know what happened."

"And what's that?" Fountain asked.

"Nothing," Caleb said, shaking his head. "Because I didn't do it. I don't know who did it, either. I wish I did, though."

He knew it wasn't enough. No explanation in the _world_ would be able to go over the blood evidence that they had found on the knife. The only thing they were looking for _now_, was a confession, and one that he would never give to them because he hadn't done the crime.

"Alright," Fountain said, "there isn't _anything_ else you might want to tell us?"

"I have nothing more to say," Caleb said, "except that I didn't do this, and you know it."

"We have you stepping outside of work," Springer reminded him. "For a break, yes, and then when we reviewed the security footage from the store, we didn't see you _anywhere_ on the camera. So either you walked out of its range, or you _drove_ out of its range."

This was stupid—and pointless. They could argue all day about it, and it wouldn't make any difference at the end of the day.

"I'm done talking about this," Caleb said, looking at him. "I already told you everything for the hundredth time. I'm not saying anymore."

"Okay," Fountain said, "stand up, turn around and put your hands behind your back."

Caleb knew this was coming—knew that the second they saw that his blood was on the knife, they would arrest him for her murder, but it didn't make that knowledge any easier on him. He was scared, and he was mad that they were bullying him like they were.

It wasn't right, and it wasn't fair that either _they_ had botched the investigation, or someone (maybe them), had planted the blood on the knife in order to frame him for the crime, especially since the town was getting antsy for answers, and they had no other suspects.

Either way, it was terrifying for someone who had never been arrested, had no idea what to expect, and had no idea _why_ he was being treated the way he was.

His entire body was numb as he stood up from his chair. The only feeling that he registered at _all_ was the feeling of his heart as it thumped out a weak beat, as though it could sense what was happening, and was just as scared as he was.

Turning away from Fountain, he placed his hands behind his back. Closing his eyes, he tried to breathe through the amount of panic that he could feel coursing through his system. When he felt Fountain's hand grip his as he prepared to put the first cuff on, he jerked away from the touch.

It was a stupid thing to do, and he knew it, but he harbored so much hatred for this person that the idea of him touching him, was absolutely _revolting_.

"Don't resist," Springer warned quietly, his voice actually taking on a sympathetic tone to it.

Caleb nodded, taking in a deep breath as he felt the smooth metal of the handcuffs fasten around his one wrist, and then the other, locking his hands behind him. A powerless feeling settled over him as the cuffs _click click clicked _into place behind him, and he hated it.

This was a position that he _never_ should have been in. The blood work should have come back clean, and he should have been on his way already. Instead, he was being arrested for a murder that he had never even committed.

"You're under arrest for suspicion of murder," Fountain said, beginning to read him his rights. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say, can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you free of charge. Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?"

"Yes," Caleb said, surprised he was even able to speak.

After that, Springer leaned him against the wall while Fountain thoroughly searched him for anything illegal or incriminating that he may have in his possession, but the only thing he had were his car keys and a few loose credit cards.

"Can I keep my wedding ring on?" he asked, his voice shaking.

"Yeah, you're allowed to wear personal, um, belongings inside the jail," Springer said softly.

"Thank you."

* * *

_Poor Caleb): I really need honest opinions with this chapter:) _

_This obviously explains Caleb's later distrust for the police in the later series in the "Missing" verse because of how they messed up in the murder of his wife and pinned it on him. _


	9. Chapter 9

Hearing the results of the blood test.

Being accused—_again_—of murdering his wife.

And then the most heartbreaking and terrifying thing had happened, they had arrested him for her murder. The blood work had been the _one_ thing that they hadn't been able to look past, and in a way, Caleb didn't blame them for that, even though it did absolutely _nothing_ to ease the fear that he felt in his heart as they prepared to leave the conference room they had arrested him in.

Going out of that room, facing whatever hell awaited him inside the actual _jail_, was something that he was sure he would never be ready for, no matter how much mental preparation he put himself through as he tried to think of anything else _but_ what was immediately happening around him.

It was nearly impossible though.

Not when he couldn't move his hands because of the cuffs, and when he was brutally reminded that they were on because the investigators assumed he might be dangerous, someone who needed to have them on for his (and _their_) protection.

Swallowing back the roll of nausea that seemed bound and determined to make its presence known _now_, on top of everything else, he raised his head when Fountain opened the door to the room, signaling that they needed to get moving.

Trying to control the insane pounding of his heart, he allowed Springer to place a hand on his arm to guide him down the long hallways that separated the private meeting rooms from the actual jail part, and though the station had been built large as a result of private funding that the town had done years ago, it did nothing for Caleb now, as he had to endure being walked a long distance to the part where he would stay at.

He was just grateful that it wasn't Fountain who was guiding him. Even though Springer hadn't aided him at all, he was simply just doing his job, while Fountain had seemed to take some kind of perverse pleasure in watching him suffer from the heinous accusations they had carelessly hurled in his face.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to avoid looking at the other people that were in the lobby or (waiting area) of the police department. It was embarrassing, and while he knew that he had done _nothing_ to deserve being treated like this, the regular citizens out on the street, wouldn't.

In their minds, they trusted what their local police told them, and if they saw the husband being carted off in handcuffs, they would have the answer to a mystery that had haunted them from the time Katie had first been murdered.

It didn't make any sense to him, and while he would have _loved_ to have told them the truth right there and then, he knew that wouldn't necessarily be allowed. Gritting his teeth, he was relieved when they reached the final stop in the jail, the part where he would be booked for the crime that he had allegedly committed.

Fountain left them briefly to go start the paperwork that would be needed to make the arrest official. Caleb was glad. He couldn't stand being in the same _room_ with him, much less having him escort him to _jail_.

Trying to make himself as comfortable as possible while he and Springer waited, he turned to the younger cop. He wasn't _so_ bad, and in a new life and world, he would have probably been friends with someone like him, but it was the feelings attached to the fact that he had caused his arrest, that partially stopped him from feeling too warm and fuzzy toward him.

Even though he wasn't as harsh as Fountain, he was _still_ a cop and one that had refused to believe his story when it was the absolute truth, and when he would have sooner died himself than go after his wife and unborn child.

"Can you—can you loosen my cuffs?" Caleb asked quietly, as he looked at Springer.

It was an age-old excuse that suspects used when they were under arrest, and had to be placed in handcuffs, but for Caleb, he was absolutely serious when he made that request to Springer. The cuffs _hurt_, and he knew that it wasn't because he had tried to get out of them, or had fought them in any way.

It was most likely Fountain being overly cocky and placing them on too tight when the situation hadn't even called for it.

"Let me see," Springer said, as he performed a simple test of sliding one finger between his wrist and the cuff to determine whether or not they were _actually_ tight or not.

Not to his surprise, Caleb actually heard him click his tongue in disapproval of his partner.

"Are they too tight?" Caleb asked, as though he already knew the answer.

"Yeah. I'll loosen them. Just a fair warning, though. Normally, the cuffs are actually _more_ comfortable tight than loose, but I can do it."

"Thanks."

Springer loosened them, while also making sure not to give Caleb enough time to slide or wriggle his hands out. He knew that Fountain liked to be a bully, someone who intimidated his suspects and made them crack, and while he was like that to a certain extent, he also didn't like himself actually sinking down to the point where he put the cuffs on too tight, and running the risk of causing actual _damage_ to the wrist itself.

"Does that feel better?" Springer asked, once he was done.

Caleb nodded. "Yeah, it does."

"Good."

"What's taking your partner so long?"

"Filling out paperwork, that kind of thing."

"Oh. Not that it's any of my business, but what's the deal with you guys? You seem halfway decent, and he just seems like a jerk."

Springer actually smiled, Caleb took that as a good sign.

"He likes to be the tough guy," Springer said, "and with me, I just don't think bullying or intimidation is the right way to go. There's other means of getting answers without resorting to that."

"I know. My Dad used to be an officer here," Caleb remarked, wondering if Springer would recognize the name, or even the fact that the son of an officer was now being charged with murder.

"Seriously? What was his name?"

"Dan Rivers. Ring a bell?"

"Yeah, it does actually."

"That was him."

"Wow."

"I know."

They didn't get much chance to talk after that. Fountain returned after completing the paperwork that was the first step in getting him integrated into the system. Standing up with difficulty, he followed Fountain and Springer into the main processing and booking area.

"Don't try anything," Fountain warned, as he took the cuffs off just long enough to allow him to be fingerprinted and photographed. "And while these are off, I need to see anything that I didn't catch when I patted you down."

"There isn't anything else," Caleb said, not even looking him in the eye.

"No other personal objects on you?" Fountain asked.

"I already said no."

"Okay," Springer said, stepping in when it was apparent that Caleb refused to deal with Fountain any further. "We also need your shoes off and any belt that you may have on."

"Why the belt?" Caleb asked, somewhat joking as he complied with what he was saying.

"We don't want you hanging yourself," Springer said, accepting the belt and shoes that Caleb handed to him. "Okay, and now is when we do another search to make sure that there isn't anything else that may be concealed somewhere else."

"Great," Caleb said dryly, as he focused on the simple task of breathing.

It seemed to help him while he was under a lot of stress, and this was no different as he felt Springer do a more thorough search of him, grateful that it wasn't the jerk Fountain who was performing it.

"Alright, excellent," Springer said, once he had been assured of the fact that there wasn't anything else on him that they needed to be worried about. "Now I just need you to answer a few basic questions, okay?"

Caleb nodded. "Yeah."

"Are you on drugs?"

"No," Caleb said, shaking his head.

At least that would be something they might feel more inclined to believe. Not that their opinions mattered much to him, but it might make the process go a little bit smoother.

"Are you homicidal?"

"No."

"Are you suicidal?"

"Absolutely not."

"Excellent."

* * *

Because of the fact that the jail was fairly quiet in the afternoon, and there weren't any other inmates to process at the moment, he was granted an almost immediate permanent cellblock unit to stay in. That fact did little to ease his fractured soul as he sank down into the hard, cement bed that he had been designated to sleep on, apart from the foam mattress that they gave him.

It was his new reality—one that he didn't deserve—and one that he had no choice but to accept for the time being. As he leaned foreword, putting his head in his hands, he let the tears that he had so bravely held back for so long, come out uninterrupted.

When he had first been arrested, he had been in a state of shock, not entirely believing what was happening to him. It was when he had finished being processed and then assigned to the cell, that it all slammed into him with the power and precision of a hurricane.

He missed Katie.

He missed the peaceful life they had together.

And he missed the promises of a happy future with their children by their side, that had been cruelly taking from him, and from Katie as well.

And now he was sitting in a jail cell, accused of murdering her and causing all of this to happen. It wasn't fair, and though he knew that didn't mean anything to the police who were desperate for answers, it meant _something_ to him (and to their respective family's who knew better).

Sleeping was an absolute impossibility, even though it would have granted him the peace that he had been craving since this nightmare had begun. Tossing and turning on the foam mattress, he drew the thin blanket around himself the best he could as he tried to let his mind wander to someplace peaceful, someplace that didn't have the confusion and the pain and the anger that he was currently feeling. There was no clock in the cell, only adding to the discomfort he was in. It could have been midnight, it could have been six in the morning and he wouldn't have noticed the difference.

Once the first rays of sun _did_ appear through the one, tiny window in the cell, he was relieved. Rolling over on his back, he waited for the guards to come by and allow him to eat breakfast, or to come and get him for his first meeting with whatever PD would be representing him.

Even though he had initially refused Jared's offer of contacting an attorney, he wished that he had listened to him and had allowed him to that make that crucial call. As it was, he would now be forced to take up the advice of whatever public defender would be coming to see him, even though he didn't plan on using he or her for longer than necessary.

When the guards finally did come around to get him, he was relieved, even though he had to put up with the cuffs again, at least he was being granted some momentary freedom before being put back again.

Walking down the hall, he almost asked where they were going, but decided not to bother. His question would be answered soon enough, and then he would be able to get the show on the road.

When they stopped outside a small room, he was glad. It would give him more of a chance to speak with his PD one on one, and not through the impersonal setting of a glass-to-glass meeting like most prisoners had to become accustomed to.

Allowing the guard to lead him over to the seat he would be expected to sit in, he didn't fight it as he calmly waited for the new attorney to show their face.

Scratching something with difficulty on his arm, he waited for the person to show. This person, whoever he or she was, would be his only ticket to freedom, and possibly before a trial or any other proceedings even got started, if they played their cards right.

When the door finally swung open and the guard stepped outside to allow their meeting to be somewhat private, his mouth dropped open in a combination of both shock and fury.

"What the hell are you doing here?"


	10. Chapter 10

Caleb's mouth would have been hanging open if he hadn't been stunned speechless. He couldn't imagine who would have the nerves (and the stupidity) to walk into that conference room, right in the middle of guards who apparently had no issue with him, for one reason or another that still had to be explained.

Clenching his jaw with a notable _click_, he watched as the sole guard in the room, left so that Caleb could have a moment alone with his new "public defender." As it was, he had no intention of saying anything to him but "get out."

He couldn't believe that Jim, or so he called himself, had the nerve to not only crash his wife's viewing ceremony, but then show up at the jail where he was at his lowest of lows, all with the sole purpose of filling his head with more of his supernatural garbage.

Shaking his head in disbelief at the hellish turn his life had taken, he watched silently as Jim crossed the room to where he was and sat down across from him. Neither one of them spoke for several minutes, each sussing the other out, waiting for the other to make the first move.

When Caleb made it clear that he had no intention of being the first one to break the ugly silence that had fallen over them, Jim cleared his throat and began speaking.

"Hi, Caleb," he said, lowering his voice so that he wouldn't be overheard by the guards outside. "Bobby and I, remember him?" A single nod from Caleb was all the invitation Jim needed. "We were still in town, and we heard about the arrest that they made."

Caleb nodded, raising a hand to bat away the tears before they could _actually_ make their appearance. The last thing he felt like doing was crying in front of this man. A man who had given him no reasons to trust him, and a thousand _other_ reasons as to why he he _shouldn't_, and why he should veto the meeting immediately.

"I'm so sorry," Jim said, his tone taking on one of sympathy. "What has happened to you, is not right. It's not fair that they did this to you."

Caleb still didn't speak. He wouldn't until Jim had finished with his monologue, and he could begin asking the questions that _he_ had for him, and he was sure that Jim wouldn't be able to answer half of them, especially how he had somehow managed to fool the cops into not putting him in the same boat that he was in.

"I know that you told us that you had no interest in accepting our help," Jim said, continuing on with his reason for being there when it was clear that Caleb harbored no plans to begin talking. "But I am here to tell you that I don't care," he said, putting it bluntly. "You _need_ to listen to me, Caleb, and you need to open your mind a little bit more. What else do you have to lose?"

_My sanity. My freakin' dignity by listening to you spout out stuff about ghosts and monsters like they're freakin' real things_, Caleb thought, but he wisely held that remark to himself as he continued watching him.

"I want to make a deal with you. If you agree to listen to me with a somewhat open mind, and you agree to hear everything I have to say, and the evidence that I have to give, and by the end of this, if you're not at least _somewhat_ convinced of what I am telling you, I will walk out those doors and I will never come back, or bother you ever again. But I need you to _attempt_ to listen, okay?"

Caleb shook his head. It wasn't right that this guy was honestly expecting him to put aside every belief that he had ever had in life, _just_ so that he could be open to the idea of monsters existing. It was something that firmly belonged in the dusty pages of books, and the overused VHS tapes of movies.

Not in real life.

And certainly not in _his_ life.

Why would monsters, even if they _were_ real, have any interest in bothering him? What had he ever done to make them so pissed off that they would kill his entire family? It made no sense to him, and that was why he was having such a hard time believing it.

"How," Caleb said, speaking for the first time since Jim had walked in. "How did you get in here? I thought they were looking for you."

"Yes," Jim said with a small smile. "You have no idea the wonders money can bring to someone, and a few well-placed words, too, I might add."

"So you're moonlighting as a PD, huh? Where's the other one?"

His first meeting with Bobby had gone off even worse than it had with Jim, with the rough man nearly punching him in a room full of people, for Caleb's dismissive attitude toward him. In normal circumstances, he would probably find it amusing, but not now, not when everything had been taken from him, including now, his freedom.

"He's back in our motel. We stay in those when we travel to different places for jobs."

"Jobs?" Caleb asked, raising an eyebrow.

"When we...do what we do."

"Oh, right," Caleb said, a small smile coming across his face. "Fighting big, bad scary monsters, huh? How much do you get paid for all that hard work?"

"Not a single dime, but the reward of knowing that I saved an innocent life, like yours, for one, is far greater than accepting any monetary gain from it."

"You're so full of it," Caleb said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You promised," Jim reminded him. "You promised to keep an open mind with me."

"Okay," Caleb said, rolling his eyes. "That's great and all, but you haven't actually given me anything for me to have an open mind _with_. If you want to grab my attention, why don't you pull a rabbit out of your hat?"

"Caleb, I'm trying to help you," Jim said, his tone still soft but with an undercurrent of warning in it.

"I'm sorry," Caleb said quietly. "If you want to grab my attention, tell me what you think killed my wife. I'm not saying I'm going to believe you, but if you want to start somewhere, start there."

Jim nodded. "Okay. We think that a monster killed your wife," he said slowly, as though he was waiting for Caleb to explode like he had at the viewing. If only he knew how desperate Caleb was to get out of the jail, and away from the restraints and the forced confinement.

"You said that before. What do you mean by that?"

"There are different monsters," Jim explained. "Hundreds, maybe thousands, actually. We think that one particular monster was responsible for what happened to you and your wife."

"And what's that?" Caleb prompted, his voice dripping with the sarcasm and doubt that he felt in that instant.

"A shape-shifter."

"A _what_?" Caleb asked blankly, not even believing that he was giving this fool the time of day to explain something like this to him, when he could be devoting his time to finding a good defense attorney that knew their stuff.

"A shifter is a creature that has the ability to manifest itself into whatever it wants to be. It can take any shape, really, but it most often prefers human prey. It can morph themselves into that person, shedding its previous skin to take on that of the person they chose. Everything about that person physically, as well as mentally, they can adopt."

"But how could-"

"How could it kill your wife?"

Caleb nodded wordlessly.

"If Bobby and I are right in our thinking, it took on _your_ appearance, somehow, and then went over to your house. Like I said, they also have the ability of taking on memories and other mental aspects of that person. It explains why there was no signs of forced entry or that nothing was stolen."

"So you read the crime scene reports, then?" Caleb said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Of _course_," he added with a scoff. "Is _anything_ about what you do legal?"

"Sadly, no," Jim said with a laugh. "It means that we have to be extremely careful with how we conduct ourselves and our job when we're out doing stuff like this."

"What's the reward?" Caleb asked. "What do you get out of it?"

"Knowing that we rid the world of one more evil, and one more bad thing."

Caleb was silent as he processed those words to himself. "If you're right, and you're probably _not_, how would a shifter get to me, then?"

"Do you remember any periods where you might have blacked out? Even for a second? If you _do_ remember that, it's probable that it happened then."

Caleb fell silent as he thought about what Jim was saying to him, and if he remembered anything that might pass for 'blacking out'. He couldn't remember anything, except for the night that all hell brook loose, and he felt dizzy enough to space out for a second.

"For a second," Caleb admitted, his eyes that had seen and gone through the worst kind of pain, especially in the last several hours, were still distrustful, but there wasn't nearly the amount of hostility and anger that had been there previously.

"Okay, when was that?" Jim asked.

"That night."

"The night that your wife passed?"

Caleb nodded, running his lips over each other. "Yeah."

"It could have happened then. It doesn't take them long to capture the memory of you in their mind."

"Off topic," Caleb warned, "but how do you know so much about what you're trying to convince me of?"

"For some hunters, that's we call ourselves, it's passed down from generation to generation. Others, like me and like yourself, and even Bobby, got into it because of a personal tragedy. My entire family was killed by demons, and you and Bobby lost your wives to that evil."

Caleb nodded; if he could identify with them on _anything_, it would be the shared pain and shock of losing the love of your life to something so completely horrible and out of this world. It didn't make the knowledge that he was starting to believe, any easier on him.

In fact, it was just the opposite.

"I need some proof," Caleb said. "I mean, _actual_ proof before I tell you whether or not I believe you."

If Jim was as serious about this as he so obviously was, he should have no problem giving Caleb the physical proof that he needed for him to believe something so completely insane and outrageous.

"What kind of proof?"

"Any proof," Caleb said, shrugging. "It doesn't matter. I need to see it before I believe it."

Jim had been ready for this. It wasn't often that they involved civilians in their lives, but when someone like Caleb had already been deeply affected by the supernatural and the ugliness surrounding it, they made exceptions.

Standing up, he pulled out a video tape that he had brought with him. Watching his movements carefully as he popped the tape into the player, Caleb tried to keep the open mind that Jim had been teaching him as he watched a grainy, black and white security tape that had been swiped from somewhere.

"Where did this come from?" Caleb asked quietly.

"From the street cameras."

"Seriously?"

Jim nodded, shrugging. "We have our ways."

"What am I supposed to be looking at?"

Jim paused the video. "When shifters are in their human disguise, they have a reflection that casts off their eyes when the camera hits them. It's bright, almost like a light, only it happens _right_ in their eyes."

"Okay."

Leaning foreword in his seat, he watched as a strangely familiar individual walked down the late night streets of his neighborhood. His blood pressure, which had already been close to the breaking point, almost skyrocketed when he realized who it was.

"That—that's—_me_," he gasped, not even able to believe as he watched the monster about to turn into his driveway.

"Now," Jim said, as he finally turned off the video. "Do you believe me? As crazy as it sounds, as crazy as it is, do you finally believe me even the _smallest_ bit?"

Caleb sighed, looking down at his cuffed hands. "I-"

"I can help you," Jim promised him. "And not just by getting you out of that cell. Bobby and I can train you to fight these things, we can do more than that, actually. We can get you back on your feet, introduce you to other hunters so you can have a support system behind you."

"Why would you do _anything_ like that for me?" Caleb asked. "You don't know me from a hole in the wall, and you're offering to help me like this?"

"Because I was in your shoes once, Caleb. I understand what it feels like to be accused of something you didn't do, and not have anyone in the world believe you. I want you to know that you have people that understand what this is like, and they believe you, just like I do, and just like Bobby does."

"Even Bobby?" Caleb asked jokingly, as he raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," Jim said with a laugh. "Even Bobby."

"What about my family?"

After all, if this demon had gone after and killed his wife, what was stopping it from striking again? Only this time taking out his brother, and maybe even one of his in-laws.

"It's a kind of unspoken rule that we live by," Jim explained. "When we hunt like we do, we leave the people that are most vulnerable, wide open to being attacked again. For that reason, we don't normally forge connections to people who are not involved in the life in some way."

Caleb nodded, swallowing back the tears that he could almost feel coming to his eyes. "So if I agree to any of this-"

"You would have to not have any further connections with your brother, other than to maybe say goodbye in your own way."

"I just can't believe any of this," Caleb mused.

"I know the feeling, believe me, and I want you to know that you're not alone. You have a friend in me, Caleb."

"Thank you."

"Do you believe me?"

Caleb paused, mentally going back over everything that Jim had told him, and everything that he had seen on that impossible video.

"Yes."


	11. Chapter 11

The supernatural was _real_.

Monsters and ghosts _did_ exist.

There were people out in the world who hunted them as a sort of sick profession.

The monster that killed his wife, was also the one who had knocked him out and took his form to do the dirty deed, thus framing him for her murder and putting him in the position that he was in now of defending his life against unfair and untrue accusations.

Caleb was sure that if his head hadn't been spinning _before_ Jim's impromptu visit, it was now, as he tried to process all the wealth of information that the hunter, (that was what they called themselves), had bestowed upon him.

At first glance, Caleb had been ready to throw the book at him, demand that he leave and never bother him again, especially with the current situation that he was in of being thrown in jail for murder, and having to live with the fact that even the cops, people he had been raised to believe only the _best_ about, had betrayed him like they had.

Now he was also having to live with the fact that the impossible was _real_, and that he couldn't divulge any of that to any of the other prisoners, not that he talked to them much anyway, and when he finally got out, he would have to say goodbye to his brother for his own protection, before leaving with Jim to start his new life of training and accumulating useful contacts to further aid him in his crusade that he didn't even know existed.

First, before any of his training began, he had to get out. That would be no easy feat to accomplish, and he fully realized that as the guards led him back to his cell after his meeting with his new "public defender" had concluded.

Jim had an idea of what he would do to sway the investigation in their favor, but it was a tossup as to whether it would actually prove to be a success or not. He wasn't holding his breath, even though he wanted to desperately, anything that would help in escaping reality for just a few minutes while he sat alone in that bare cell, with the only thing to soothe him being the fact that he would be out soon regardless, it was just a matter of _when_.

The next morning was when he was allowed to start having visitors—apart from his attorney—and he was grateful for that. To no surprise, it turned out to be Jared that came to see him. In that instant, as he stared across at his brother, he only felt pity for him. He had no idea that he would soon have to leave him, have to abandon him for his own safety against a world that he had no inkling even existed.

Until that time came, however, he fully intended on making the _most_ of their time together. That was why he couldn't say goodbye yet. Not until he had his release secured.

"Hey, bro," Caleb said, forcing a smile on his face, though the faint _clinking _sound the cuffs and waist chain made when he sat down, kind of put a damper on that effect.

It was obvious Jared noticed it too, and though he had always been the tough, slightly teasing older brother for as long as Caleb could remember anything, he saw how hard this was on him, especially seeing his little brother in chains like he was.

"How—how are you doing?" Jared asked, clearly struggling for the right words with which to approach him from.

This was _completely_ new territory for _all_ of them, and they were at a loss as to how to deal with it properly. The last thing Jared had honestly expected was to go into the station after Caleb had failed to return, only to find out that they had arrested him for Katie's death.

It was heartbreaking, especially when he knew the truth about their relationship better than anyone, and knew that what was being done to him, wasn't right and it wasn't fair.

"I honestly don't know," Caleb said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. "I have good days, and then I have bad days where it's just all in my face, you know?"

Jared nodded. "I know, I mean I don't _know_, but you know what I mean?"

Caleb smiled, nodding. "I do."

"What _happened_?" Jared asked, struggling to understand what would make the police arrest him, even if there _was_ evidence to back it up. There was no way that they could honestly suspect that he had murdered her when he had an alibi to back up his claims.

It made no sense to him.

"The blood test came back positive."

"Are you _kidding_?"

"No. They saw that as their smoking gun, and then we argued about it for a few minutes, and then they told me to stand up and they arrested me."

Jared shook his head in complete incredulity. "So what now?" he asked softly.

"Now I have to get through the next few weeks."

_And years_, he thought to himself. _Especially if I'm going to spend my life devoted to killing these things._

"With your arraignment?"

"Yeah."

"Do you have an attorney, or someone who can help you?"

Caleb nodded. "Yeah."

Not that Jim's services were actually "legal" but he was the only prayer that Caleb had of getting out of that hellhole, and while he wouldn't be in the courtroom with him, in favor of promoting a new, legal one, he would be the driving force behind his eventual release.

"Is he or she any good?"

"Yeah," Caleb said, nodding. "I think so. It's only temporary, though, until I find a new one."

"Oh, okay. So it's a PD?"

"For now," Caleb said, nodding. "Yeah."

"Wow. I spoke to Katie's family."

"Seriously?" Caleb said, leaning foreword in his seat. "What did they say?"

"They are standing behind you. They believe the evidence that you have on your side, mainly the alibi."

"Good."

Maybe _that_ would serve to help him in the long run, if the victim's family actually believed in his innocence. He could only hope, and while that offered him little comfort now, he was hoping that something good would come out of this whole ordeal in some way or another.

"When is your arraignment?"

"Tomorrow."

Being hunters, Jim and Bobby had resources that would be able to get him out of jail if a bail amount was set. While it would be undoubtedly high for a guy who was accused of murder, it would be the one thing that he would need in order to get out, and flee the state.

"Wow," Jared said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I know. Do you have the picture I asked you to bring?"

In jail, inmates were only allowed few personal belongings from the outside world. One of those things that was on the approved list, were family pictures. One of the first requests that Caleb had made of his brother when he learned that he was coming to see him, was that he bring a wedding picture of he and Katie.

"I do," Jared said, as he carefully brought the picture out of his pocket. "Is this the one you wanted?"

Caleb nodded as he carefully took the picture from him, his eyes momentarily pinching with tears before he composed himself. It was a picture of he and Katie on their wedding day, right after their vows had been exchanged. The photo captured them in their first kiss.

"Thanks," he finally choked out.

"No problem, man."

Caleb was silent for a few moments as he silently stared at the photograph in his possession. He couldn't believe that so much had changed in the three years since he had recited those traditional vows, and had sealed it with a kiss. It was amazing that she could be at the peak of her life, and then for it all to be stolen by the heartless actions of one person—or monster.

"Springer said that they tested the blood twice. How is that even possible, then, that my blood was on it?"

"I don't know," Jared said. "Who's Springer?"

"He's the one that—that-"

"That arrested you?"

Caleb nodded. "Yeah. He said that their department tested the blood results _twice_, and it came up the same every time."

"Maybe someone did this."

"What do you mean?" Caleb asked, his heart rate spiking in direct response to what his brother was saying, as though he _knew_ the real truth behind the murder.

"Maybe someone set you up to take the fall for this."

"How is that possible, though?" Caleb asked skeptically, feeling bad for lying to his brother like this, but also not having much of a choice if he wanted to keep him alive.

"I don't know, but maybe it's something that someone needs to look into."

"Maybe, but where are we going to find the money to hire a private investigator?"

"Somewhere?" Jared supplied. "I don't know."

"I don't either."

Not that hiring a PI would do any good—not when the police were all but certain who had killed Katie, and would testify to that in court, and when his arraignment was upon them. His only salvation was that he would soon be able to get out regardless with Jim's help.

* * *

It had been nice to have the visit from Jared, and have the picture of he and Katie to keep with him in his cell, and while that did little to ease the pain of the current situation he had found himself in, it helped in that he had something physical to remind him of he and Katie's love for each other.

Lying on his back on his cold and impersonal bunk, he looked over at the one, small slit in the wall that passed for a window. It was almost dark. Somehow, an entire day had passed without him being none the wiser to the gradual passage of time.

The visit with Jared had helped ease the near constant anxiety and pain that he had found himself in since Fountain and Springer had arrested him. Now he only had the arraignment to worry about, and the fact that Jim was planning an escape for him if things didn't pan out the way they wanted it to.

When he had asked what the plan entailed, he would only tell him that he and Bobby were working on something. That didn't ease the nervousness that Caleb felt, just the opposite, actually. The last thing he needed was to be found again and carted back off to jail.

Turning over on his side, he was just about to try to reclaim some lost sleep, when the guard appeared at his cell door. He had quickly learned that if he treated the guards like human beings, they would return the same favor, and he would do anything if it meant making this process go that much smoother for him.

"You have a visitor that wants to see you," the guard explained.

"Okay," Caleb said, as he held out his hands for the guard to cuff them.

"Turn around," the guard instructed.

Sighing, Caleb complied as the guard fastened the waist chain around his waist, before finally being allowed to leave the confines of his cell. Walking down the hall with the guard, he was curious as to who it was, not that he harbored any doubt really.

When they turned into the same room that had been used for his meetings with people so far, he wasn't surprised to see Jim sitting at the table, waiting for him. Waiting until the guard had left, Caleb took a seat across the table from him.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi," Jim said. "Your arraignment is coming up tomorrow."

"I know."

"I talked to Bobby, and we have a sort of tentative plan in motion for what's going to happen if the case continues much further."

"What's that?" Caleb asked, as he scratched something behind his ear.

"I destroyed some of the evidence against you, Caleb."

Caleb had a hard time controlling his reaction to that news, as his mouth opened in shock. "You did _what_?"

"I destroyed some of the evidence against you."

Doing that not only meant that the prosecution had next to _nothing_ to go on, but that the entire case the cops had built against him, was obliterated by the removal of that crucial crutch that had assisted them all that time.

"What evidence? And _how_?"

Not that he knew anything about the secret world of hunters, and how they operated on a daily basis, but the fact that it had seemingly been _easy_ for Jim to break into the station and destroy evidence, was one trick that he knew he wouldn't mind learning for future use.

"The blood evidence," Jim said, watching him carefully for his reaction. "That's their only _real_ case against you right now. If you go to court, and they don't have that, I don't see the judge furthering the case."

"Because-"

"Because you have a solid alibi with people seeing you right _before_ the murder actually happened, and without the prosecution's smoking gun, they won't have anything to go on. They haven't even proven a motive yet, have they?"

Caleb shook his head. "No."

It was laughable to him that the police had never actually zeroed in on a motive for why he would allegedly go to all the trouble of pretending that he was at work, while really traveling across town to murder his pregnant wife.

A murder case like that, especially one that was against the son of a former, well-respected member of their team, had to have a strong motive to back up their claim. Without it, the case meant next to nothing, and now without the blood evidence to assist them, the case was dead.

"Well, they shot themselves in the foot with that one," Jim said, shaking his head in amusement.

"Are you going to be in court tomorrow?" Caleb asked uncertainly, as though he was seriously entertaining that possibility.

"No. I don't want to chance messing up your case, if and when they ever find out my real identity. I have a few suggestions for you, though, that you may want to look into."

"Okay."

Waiting for him to give him his list, Caleb adjusted his position in the chair. It was hard to move, or even walk, when he had not only the handcuffs but the waist chain that prevented much movement other than the rudimentary walking skills that he knew by heart.

It was only another reminder of the current predicament he had found himself in, and while he would have loved to have been able to walk freely without the restraints, it was something that was out of the question, especially with his status as an accused "murderer."

"Here are some names," Jim said, finally writing down the people that he thought stood a chance of helping Caleb if, by some out there impossibility, the case continued.

Caleb nodded as he scanned the list of names that Jim had suggested to him. Most were people that he had heard of in some way or another from either his parents, or from them tossed around loosely by the different police officers that he had run into.

One name in particular stood out to him. Leaning foreword, he studied the name, not recognizing it from any of the others, and that was what piqued his interest a little bit.

"Did you find one?" Jim asked, watching his new friend's interest as he pursued the name.

"What do you know about Dawn Michaels?"

He had no idea why he had stopped at her name, but he was curious.

"She's excellent," Jim said, without hesitation. "I've never met her in person before, but she has an unprecedented reputation for scoring acquittals for her clients."

That sounded as promising as anything to Caleb. "What's her _actual_ success rate?"

"Out of a hundred, she's been able to win ninety-eight of the cases she's been hired for."

That was impressive—and even Caleb knew that, and he didn't know _anything_ about the legal world or how it operated. Nodding his head thoughtfully, he circled her name with the pen that Jim had given him.

"Can you call her for me?"

"Yeah."

* * *

It was nerve-wracking to know that he only had a few hours to go before his arraignment on murder charges, and while he knew that Jim was doing everything in his power to contact this new attorney, Dawn, and set up a meeting with them, he was nervous about the entire thing.

Even _if_ Dawn agreed to represent him, would he be making the case more difficult by suddenly allowing Jim to break him out of jail right before any major proceedings were due to start? It was a question that had been hanging over his head all afternoon as he tossed and turned in his cell, before trying to switch his mind to something else.

Reading something normally helped calm him down in ordinary circumstances, but nothing about his life was "ordinary" anymore. It pained him to admit it, but it was true. His wife was gone, his house was nothing but a distant dream that had been filled with happiness and cheer, but was now nothing but a cruel reminder of what was.

And instead of being allowed to mourn her the way he wanted to, he was stuck in a jail cell, arrested and charged with her murder based off the results of a blood test that had seemed to definitively conclude that his blood had been on the blade that had been used to kill her.

On top of all that, as if that wouldn't be enough for _anyone_, he had been forced to believe the impossible fact that the supernatural existed, that it had struck down on his family and had killed his wife, while setting him up to take the fall for the crime.

A shape-shifter.

Brought out of his thoughts by the appearance of the guards that were there to come and take him to the meeting that he assumed Jim had managed to orchestrate, he allowed them to do what they had to do before walking him down to the meeting rooms that inmates were allowed to be in with their family, friends and legal representation.

When the guards finally granted him access to the room, he was met by a woman who had dark blond hair, a no-nonsense attitude, and someone that Caleb knew that he would get along with famously, by the way that she gave him a little smile, letting him know that he had nothing to worry about.

"Are you Dawn?" he asked, once the guards had left to give them privacy.

"Last time I checked," she said teasingly. "Are you Caleb?"

"Last time I checked," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Well, good. I talked to your friend, Jim Murphy?"

Caleb nodded. "I told him to call you."

"I know. That's what he said. So you want to tell me why you're wearing the orange jumpsuit?"

"It's a long story," he promised, as he twisted his wedding ring around his finger.

"Start from the beginning."

And so he did.

He told her _everything_, including the fact that he had stepped outside of the range of the security camera at the store, and the dirty blood test that had resulted in his arrest, and more importantly, the fact that the police had no motive with which to pin the crime on him.

"So what do you think?" he asked, once he had finally stopped to catch his breath.

"I think we can figure something out," she said, "and just so you know, I don't tell lies to my clients. When I tell you I think we can figure something out, I _do_ mean that literally."

"I appreciate it," he said honestly.

If there was ever a time that he needed someone to be honest with him, it was then, when he was feeling so down and so disappointed with the way his life was shaping out.

"And I expect the same," she said.

"That won't be a problem."

So what if he couldn't tell her about the supernatural? That wouldn't impact his case at the end of the day. The only thing _she_ was concerned about was the physical evidence against him, and if Jim was right in saying that he had managed to get rid of the blood evidence, the case was pretty much done before it even began.

First though, before they could get to the issue of the evidence at all, was his arraignment. It happened only a few hours after Dawn had officially taken him on as a client, and while he trusted her, especially with her amazing track record of scoring acquittals for her clients, he couldn't help but be a little skeptical when so much had happened that went _against_ him.

"How do you wish to plead?" the judge asked, directing his gaze onto him.

"Not guilty, Your Honor," Caleb said, feeling a certain relief when he said those words, that if all went in his favor, he would be able to get bail, especially if the prosecution didn't have a crucial part of their evidence to present to the judge.

"Your Honor," Dawn said, beginning to address the court as to the issue of whether or not he would be allowed bail or not. "My client has no prior arrests, has had gainful employment for the past few years at Hardy's Construction company, and I wanted to ask the court to consider granting my client bail."

Caleb waited with bated breath while the judge considered the issue that Dawn had rose.

"Does the State have any objections to this?"

Not surprisingly, they did, but there was little they could do to mount an effective argument when, even they admitted, they had lost some of their evidence. It was hard to hide the smile that was on the edge of his mouth when he heard them scrambling for a reason as to why their office had lost such a crucial piece of their evidence.

"Bail is granted at ten thousand dollars."


	12. Chapter 12

It was hard to accurately describe the different and complex emotions that Caleb was feeling as he heard the judge say that bail was actually _granted_ at ten thousand dollars. It was an unusually high amount, but that was no surprise to him, especially with his status as a murderer, someone who was supposed to be dangerous.

When he mentally questioned _why_ he had been allowed bail, the first thing that came to mind was that he had no prior criminal record, and maybe the fact that he was the son of a former, well-respected police officer. He knew that couldn't have made things any worse on him in the end, and even though the exultation on his face was clear for everyone to see, the issue of where they would get that kind of money to bail him out, was another matter altogether.

And until that time happened, when either his brother or Jim or Bobby was able to come up with the ten percent needed to get him out, he had to go back to the cell. It wasn't altogether depressing when he was reminded of the fact that, sooner or later, he would be released, but it was still slightly upsetting when the guard snapped the first cuff on Caleb's wrist, signaling in the way that words couldn't, that it was time to go.

Sighing deeply, he stood as he allowed the guard to cuff his other hand behind him. Looking out at the galley of people that had assembled for his arraignment, he tried to look past the sea of faces that weren't immediately familiar to him, but almost wished that he had stayed there, because when he saw his brother visibly struggle to compose himself, it was all he could do not to push the guards away and go over to him.

Swallowing back thickly, he kept walking. The courthouse wasn't too far from the jail, and while he tried to take comfort in that, it was hard when he knew where he would be going back to until someone came up with the money to bail him out.

Leaning his head back against the hard plastic of the police car seat, he looked out at the town that he used to love, and at all the people that used to be his friends, people who now viewed him, no doubt, as a murderer, someone capable of murdering his pregnant wife in cold blood.

There was nothing he could do to change their perceptions either way. What was done, was done, and the only thing he had going for him was the realization that he had the truth on his side, and he had the knowledge that he wouldn't have to put up with being treated like a criminal much longer.

When the police car rolled into the underground parking garage, letting him know that he was back to his temporary home, he sighed. The cell was okay, there was some reading material now, thanks to his brother generously donating to his commissary account, but it wasn't like home, and it wasn't even like sleeping in a somewhat comfortable bed.

He still had to accept it until he could finally be granted freedom from that place. Scooting himself foreword as much as he dared, he let the police officer guide him the rest of the way out as he handed him off to an unsympathetic corrections officer who was waiting to ferry him back to his cell.

The walk wasn't too long, and then he was able to get out of the cuffs that had been restraining him, and sink down into his bunk. He was grateful that he didn't have to put up with the stresses of having a roommate, something that some of the other prisoners there had to put up with.

Lying back against the hard pillow, he reached for one of the few books he had actually wanted, and started reading. It did wonders to soothe his mind, and actually allowed him to disappear into another world, another lifetime where the characters in the story were happy and the conflict that arose in the story, was something fascinating and interesting, other than depressing and scary, something that he dealt with on a fairly regular basis.

And it also helped in putting his troubled mind to sleep for a few hours, something that he definitely wouldn't fight against as he finally put the book down and pulled the blankets up higher around himself, trying to obtain the comfort that would come with escaping from reality for a few, precious hours.

Turning over on his side in the most comfortable sleep position he knew, he tried to lose himself in that for a little while, trying _not_ to think about the arraignment, and even though it had gone somewhat in his favor, there was still the issue of where he or Jim would find the money to bail him out of that hellhole so they could begin planning their next move.

Not surprisingly, sleep failed to arrive to him for several hours after the fact. It was a night spent of pointless tossing and turning, and nothing helped until his body was good and ready to let him go from its cruel clutches.

When the first, faint rays of morning light shone through the one small window in the cell, he was almost relieved that he wouldn't have to keep struggling for sleep when the option would be taken right out of his hands regardless.

The guards came around first thing to allow the prisoners to walk down the thin hall to grab their breakfast trays, before being escorted back to their cells. He knew that some inmates were allowed out in the cafeteria to socialize with each other, but apparently that wasn't an option given to accused killers.

After the breakfast hour, was typically when visitors were allowed to come and see their incarcerated family and friends. He waited patiently for either his brother, one of the guys or Dawn to come and see him.

When he finally _did_ get a visitor, and the guards came back to get him for the meeting, he had a hard time containing the eagerness that he felt at getting out of that solitary cell, and more importantly, finding out the status of his release from either his attorney, or Jim.

When the door to the meeting room was finally opened, and he saw Jim sitting there, he was relieved. Even though he had initially viewed the kindly man sitting before him, with barely concealed hatred and anger, he had come to view him as a lifeline to the outside world, and the promise of a new future, that while he had never asked for, would have no choice but to embrace.

Waiting until the guards had left the room so that they could have some much needed privacy, Caleb sighed as he tried to formulate the words needed to word his questions to the veteran hunter. There was so much he needed to learn still, and so little time to learn it. It was dizzying when he thought of everything that had happened to him recently, and the issues that were still assaulting his senses, his mind, and the fallout from his arrest.

"Hi," Jim said, finally deciding to take it upon himself to break the awkward silence between the two of them. "Your arraignment went fairly well."

"It did," Caleb agreed with a slight yawn.

Jim noticed, and though he was obviously a master at controlling his reactions, it was clear that he felt sorry for the young man who's entire life had been thrown into shambles as a direct result of the evil that he hunted on a daily basis.

"Didn't sleep good?"

"No. I never really do anymore," Caleb said.

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine—not your fault."

"What did you think of Dawn?"

Dawn was the new attorney that Caleb had hired as a sort of "safeguard" if things didn't necessarily go his way in terms of escaping from the jail, and going on his new life. During the crucial hearing that had determined his bail amount, he had been greatly impressed with her knowledge, her intelligence when it concerned the twisted ins and outs of the legal world, and he liked her attitude.

"I liked her," he finally said. "She was really great."

"Yeah, she is."

"So what's the status with the bail money?" Caleb asked, voicing the question that had been on the tip of his tongue to ask, since he had first sat down with Jim.

"It's getting there," Jim assured him. "We're talking to a bondsman, and Bobby has some resources that he can dive into if we need it."

"Thank you."

"Of _course_," Jim said, as though it was the most obvious and natural thing in the world to be forking over thousands of dollars to someone that he barely knew. "When is the next hearing in the case?"

"I don't know yet. I'm supposed to hear from her about it soon."

"Okay."

Not that he planned on sticking around any longer than he had to once he got out, but he wanted to be kept up to speed on all matters related to his legal case, and while he knew that Dawn was working her butt off to bring it to a peaceful resolution, it still worried him when he was reminded of how powerful the justice system was.

"What are you thinking about?" Jim asked, catching the pensive look on his friend's face.

"Everything," Caleb said with a scoff.

"I bet."

While he would have loved to have broken his friend out of jail, and bring him back to Minnesota where he lived, so that they could start training, he knew that it would be more practical to wait until he had bailed out before they made the jump to the next phase in their training.

"Does the prosecution suspect that you were the one who destroyed the evidence?" Caleb asked.

"Not yet. I think they have their suspicions, but they have no proof to back up what they'll say, if they even say it at all."

"Right."

* * *

The day finally came that the bail amount went through. It had been weeks of legal wrangling and bugging of various bondsmen in the area before the amount due was finally put up. It was a welcome relief to Caleb, who had spent the last two weeks locked up in the tiny confines of the cell, and while he knew that the day would eventually come, it had seemed like it would never end for him, and while he was glad to be out and back in the "real" world, it was what would come next that he was having the most problems with.

He would have to face the choice of either sticking around the area while he waited for the conclusion of his legal case, with the high probability being that the case would be thrown out due to a blatant lack of evidence, or he could jump the gun and go with Jim back to Minnesota to start his new life, one that he kept having second thoughts about, no matter how much he tried to convince himself, or put himself in the right frame of mind to accept it.

Immediately after his release, he had gone back to his brother's. It was the safest place that he could think of to stay at while he contemplated the impossible choices ahead of him. Pacing had always been a friend to him in times of stress, and that was never more true now as he walked in circles around his bedroom, thinking over his life in that town, and how it had all been so wonderful up until just a few weeks previously when Katie had died.

If he could be sure of his brother's continued safety if he stuck around, he would probably be content to stay put and let the professionals do the monster wrangling, but he couldn't. That had already been proven when the shape-shifter, or whatever it was, had broken into his home and murdered his wife.

What was to stop the same thing from coming back and finishing his _brother_ off?

It was with that horrific thought running through his mind that he smoothly got down under the bed that he had been staying in, and fished out the ratty duffel bag that he had packed his meager supply of belongings into.

The antique dresser that had belonged to either their grandparents, or their great-grandparents, housed all of the clothes that he had been able to fish out of their house, when he had had the courage to go back inside after the police had cleared it of evidence.

It was hard to believe that he was consciously making the decision to not only leave the _one_ town that he had _ever_ known to go fight evil, but that he was doing it with the knowledge that he would have to not have any further contact with his brother for his own safety.

"Are you going somewhere?"

He had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts, and packing his things, that he hadn't realized that Jared had been standing in the doorway, probably watching him for awhile now, and only just now deciding to interrupt the silence that Caleb had been basking in before everything went to hell.

"Uh, yeah."

How was he supposed to tell his brother that he was going, and that chances were, he wouldn't be able to see him again? It was horrible, and in that instant, he hated the supernatural for taking everything from him, and he even hated Jim and Bobby for telling him he had to make this choice.

"Okay...where are you going?" Jared asked, as he leaned against the doorway, trying to make sense of what his brother was doing, and why he was suddenly leaving right in the middle of his legal case.

"Somewhere," Caleb replied.

"Dude, seriously!" Jared said. "I'm the older one, I'm supposed to be the one who keeps cryptic secrets. Not the other way around."

"Look," Caleb said, as he finally finished packing his things. "I appreciate everything that you have done for me the last few weeks. I really do, and I won't ever forget it, either."

"You're scaring me," Jared said. "What's going on?"

"Don't be scared," Caleb said, putting his hand on his brother's shoulder, trying to blink back the tears that he could feel coming on. "I love you. I can't tell you where I'm going, but I'm going to be fine, and you are too."

At least he could promise his brother that. If he was out of his life, the supernatural would have no reason for coming back to their town and harming anyone else again. For some reason, it had gone after him, and though he would never be able to make sense of that, at least he would be securing his brother's safety.

"Why do you have to go?" Jared asked.

"I just do. I can't—I can't promise that I'll be back. I probably won't, actually, but I love you and you will always be my annoying ass big brother."

"Is this about the case? Are you leaving because of that?"

"I—I can't tell you why," Caleb said. "All I can say is that I love you, if I can call you, I will. In the meantime, find some girl that loves you, and can put up with your crap, and be happy for once. Mom and Dad," he said, knowing how much Jared had struggled with their parent's deaths. "Would want you to find someone."

"I-"

"I'll see you around."

With that, Caleb swung his bag over his shoulder and walked past him out of the bedroom. It felt like his heart was breaking all over again as he walked down the stairs, and out of the house that had been a refuge to him in the last few weeks, and while his brother would never be able to understand the reason for why he had to leave, he hoped that he would on some level, know that he loved him and would never, for as long as he lived, forget about him.

Jim had given him the address of the motel that he and Bobby were staying at, and while the last thing he felt like doing, was going to spend his time with the people that had caused him to say goodbye to his brother, he had no other choice if he wanted to survive in a world like this.

Driving alone in his car, he scrubbed a hand over his face as he fought back to his final conversation with his brother. The confusion and even the hurt on his face, had been enough to nearly undo him from his intended course right there, but he had held firm and had done the one action that had probably saved him from future hurt.

When he pulled into the near vacant parking lot of the motel, he paused in his actions as he looked back at the small stash of supplies that he had brought with him. It didn't mean much in the grand scheme of things, but it was the only lifeline he had to his old life, and the one that he was destined to start now.

Walking up the steps to reach their room on the second floor, he hesitated only a second before knocking. He could hear some movement behind the door, and what sounded like Bobby's rough voice, before the door opened.

"Hey," Caleb said, looking at Bobby's face. "Is there a secret password or something? Or can I just come in?"

"Is that all your stuff?" Bobby asked, by way of greeting as he stood aside to let Caleb in.

"Most of it. What I can carry in this bag. The rest," he shrugged, as he dumped it on the one table in the room. "I can replace."

"Well," Jim said, "we have a long drive ahead of us. Are you going to follow?"

Caleb nodded. "I'm not leaving my car."

"Okay, we better get going, then."


	13. Chapter 13

As he dragged his meager supply of belongings down the few flight of steps that led from the motel room to his car, he questioned, once again, the sanity of making such a huge decision right on the heels of his wife passing away so tragically. Didn't every grief counselor there was, advise against making such huge choices during the first year? He was jumping it by several months, and while he knew that he didn't have a choice when he had knowledge of things that most therapists wouldn't even _dream_ about, it was still something that gave him cause to stop and think.

The slamming of the trunk door—_his_ trunk door—brought his attention back to reality as he looked at his hand, not even consciously aware that he had moved to close it. Further proof that his body, which had always been so active and alert, was functioning purely on autopilot as he moved around the car to slide into the drivers seat.

Bobby and Jim wanted to get a head start on driving so they could reach home within a reasonable period of time, and while Caleb agreed wholeheartedly with their plan, he was also still trying to let the enormousness of his new reality, sink into his fragmented soul.

It didn't seem possible that he had everything that he could have ever wanted in life: a wife, first and foremost, and then a good job and a house, and the absolute icing on the cake was their baby that they had been wanting to have so desperately and for so long, and were starting to fear that it would never happen, and then it had all been stripped from him like a pull of a bandaide.

Gone.

Rip cord.

Instead of picking out colors for the nursery, he was now gearing up to go on the next phase of his life in Minnesota to train, to learn how to seek out the supernatural before it sought _him_ out, and also having to face the hard truth that he couldn't have any further connections with that town, not unless he counted Dawn, who by some stroke of a miracle, had an office in Minnesota that she was planning on moving full-time to, anyway.

But even as he watched Bobby and Jim walk down the steps of the motel and climb into their shared car, he couldn't escape the giant hole that was tugging incessantly at his heartstrings as he put his car into drive and followed them out of the near vacant parking lot, down the condensed town roads, and finally onto the more liberating freeway.

Saying his goodbyes to Jared had been one of the hardest things about accepting this new life, and moving on. It had gutted him to have to watch his brother's face as he prepared to walk out of his life, and leave him without any further family to lean on.

The only prayer he had was that his brother would finally overcome their parent's deaths, and find a good woman that would love him for all his quirks and charms, and fall in love with the wonderful man that he was underneath the bravado and the quick teases.

Scrubbing a hand over his eyes at the unfairness of it all, he tried to avoid crying while he was driving. That would only hinder his ability to see, and then he would have to pull over, and then he would only be delayed in proceeding with the inevitable as he carefully kept watch on their car so he wouldn't lose sight of it among the throng of other cars jockeying for a good position in the early evening rush hour.

Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he tried to imagine something positive coming out of this, and couldn't. What would be gained by devoting his life to fighting a secret world of ghosts and monsters? Maybe, at the very least, a temporary high of adrenaline, and if he was lucky, the indescribable feeling of saving another life, but was he really cut out to do this as a _living_?

It was a question that he knew he would have to wait to answer until he had gotten himself more integrated into the life that Jim and Bobby seemed so comfortable in, like it was nothing to waltz into a police station and steal confidential files related to an ongoing murder investigation.

It was that part of the life that Caleb had the most trouble accepting. His first foray into that side of the law that his father had been a member of, was something he would gladly forget if he could. The powerless feeling of being handcuffed behind the back, being booked and processed while he had to deal with an overzealous police officer, and a partner that looked like a lost deer in the headlights next to his overbearing partner.

Caleb definitely hadn't relished that feeling of being locked solitary in a jail cell while awaiting whatever courtroom crap he would have to endure next. It all stemmed from that one supernatural creature, the shape-shifter, doing the heinous deed of killing his pregnant wife, using his form, and then planting his blood all over the knife that had been used in the attack, thus framing him, and thus giving Springer and Fountain more than enough ammo with which to to confront and ultimately arrest him with.

If all hunting would do, was bring about those same results of having to suffer through more jail time, he wasn't even sure he wanted it anymore, as if he did before. It wasn't right that the law felt like it had the right, the audacity to push him around as though they knew him, as though they could see right through to his soul, and know for a _fact_ that he had done the crimes that they were speaking of.

He hated it.

Sighing in relief when Bobby and Jim finally pulled off into a rest area, he followed closely behind. The drive would take them close to twelve hours if they hurried, and that was factoring in the traffic that would gradually thin out as the evening progressed.

He didn't want to stop.

He would rather just keep going, and then deal with the fallout of such a strenuous trip later on. Right then, though, he needed some amount of caffeine if he was to entertain the idea of driving through the night. Walking up to the counter that separated the people from the customers, he placed his order, and made sure that they knew to put in extra loads of cream and sugar to further satisfy the ever encroaching exhaustion he could feel settling in.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw Jim and Bobby finally walk in, having no doubt been discussing their planned strategy for the rest of the evening. Giving them a greeting by way of a single raise of an eyebrow, he waited for his order to be completed, while tapping his fingers on the counter.

"So what's the plan?" Caleb asked, as he turned his head to look at the two hunters next to him.

"We'll keep going," Jim said, "he and I can switch off on driving. Are _you_ okay, though?"

Caleb nodded. "Yeah. Just as soon as I get my caffeine, I'm good to go."

"Okay."

He had driven for long stretches of time in the past, for family trips and other work requirements that he sometimes had to do. It beat stopping, especially with how uncertain his new life promised to be, and if Jim and Bobby were right in saying that the supernatural had a bizarre way of finding someone they wanted found.

Once he finally got his coffee, he eagerly inhaled as much of it as he could without burning his throat. It was just the thing that would satisfy that part of him that was growing more and more exhausted as the evening hours approached them.

Standing back while he watched them fulfill a similar order, he looked at the time above the counter and saw that it was nearly nine. It took close to twelve or thirteen hours to get to Minnesota, and while he knew that if they hurried, they could beat that time in half, it was a daunting prospect.

"So how far into Minnesota do you live?" Caleb asked, as he and Bobby and Jim turned and headed back out into the somewhat warm night.

"Not too far. Blue Earth," Jim replied, as he started turning toward the shared car he and Bobby were in.

"Never heard of it," Caleb said, as he swung his car keys around his finger before getting into the car, and starting it up. "What about you?" he asked, looking over at Bobby.

So far he and the older hunter had shared minimal contact with each other—and he was trying to make himself more integrated into his life, as well. It was slightly intimidating when he had all the tact of a truck driver, but he had dealt with worse before.

"I don't live in Minnesota. I live in South Dakota."

"Oh."

Finally slamming his car door shut, he got back on the road with the guys. It was disappointing that they still had a ways to go, but he was also relieved that they seemed to be making steady progress, even though the night wore on without an ending in sight, and though he tried to save up as much of the caffeine as he could, even that eventually was sucked dry as he scrubbed a tired hand through his eyes, trying to induce as much awareness in himself as he possibly could.

His father had always taught him to never drive when he was so tired that he could barely see the road, but the last thing he felt like doing was pulling over. It was dangerous (and stupid) he knew, but he had enough confidence in his abilities to remain steady as they neared the state of his new home.

Even though it took hours, they eventually made it just as the sun was starting to show its first, feeble rays of life over the distant horizon. Groaning in relief, he followed Jim and Bobby the rest of the way into the unfamiliar towns and cities that they passed through on their way to Blue Earth.

Minnesota had always been one of the places that he and his family had wanted to visit, but had never gotten the chance before. It was nice that it was happening for him now, but he wished the circumstances were different as they finally rolled through the quaint town of Blue Earth. It was smaller than the other, larger ones they had passed, and while it looked like a nice place to raise a family, and even hide out from the various evil, he knew too much to feel completely safe anymore.

The neighborhood that Jim lived in, was larger. It was on one of the upper-class streets, and while his house was by no means the largest or the grandest, it still looked like it could comfortably fit several people at once without it being a problem, as he popped open the lid of his trunk and extracted all of his luggage.

It was weird how all of his property fit into that single duffel bag without it being a problem. The clothes had been the most important for him, everything else material wise, he could live without until he had replaced it with something else.

"This is it," Jim said, as though he needed to explain that, but it was obvious that he was starting to wonder what to do next, now that he had safely gotten his new friend to a safe place.

"It's nice," Caleb said, nodding. "Am I gonna find any dungeons or potion rooms in there?" he asked, only halfway joking as the three of them walked up the stone pathway to the front door.

"No," Jim said with a laugh. "None of that. Although, there _is_ a place in the basement that we, or I, keep most of my weapons for when I go out."

"Gotcha. In case the cops come looking..."

"Exactly."

Inside, the house was spacious. A large family room played host to a nice size TV, ample seating arrangements, and the kitchen was even larger with enough room to comfortably cook while entertaining other people and guests.

When Jim directed him to follow him upstairs, he didn't hesitate. He knew that whatever room he stayed in, would be like a getaway for him while he silently learned to process everything that had happened in the last few weeks.

"This is your room," Jim said, opening the door and flipping on the light. "There's a few other bedrooms, too, in case you want to move. Bobby's staying in that one," he explained, gesturing to the door right across from him. "And I'm staying in the one down the hall."

"I don't know," Caleb said jokingly. "Me, right across from Bobby? Sure he won't slaughter me in my sleep?"

"He's not that bad," Jim assured him. "You just have to get to know him a little better."

"Yeah, I know. So what do you do for a living? I mean, besides the hunting part?"

"I work as a pastor in the church here."

"You _do_?" Caleb said, stopping in his tracks as he followed him back downstairs. "That was kind of the _last_ job I would expect from-"

"From someone who kills demons and burns bones in his spare time?" Jim said, looking back at him for his reaction. "I get that a lot from other people in the same boat."

"Yeah, I mean, it's nice, just a little surprising."

"Well, when your father was a pastor and you always felt that feeling of expectation your entire life, you kind of feel pressured to go into the same thing. As it turns out? I have a thing for understanding people, and connecting with them on a deeper level, and so it works for me."

"My Dad was a police officer," Caleb said, shaking his head in amusement. "Kind of ironic when you consider all the hell I've been put through with those people, but it's true."

"Would you have gone into that life had you not been arrested by them?" Jim asked, as he allowed Bobby to pass around the beer.

"Not really," Caleb said. "I went to the academy to train, but it never caught my interest. I think my Mom was relieved," he said with a laugh, "but I don't know about my dad. He acted like it was no big deal that I quit."

It had been one of the first decisions that he had ever made for himself as someone just reaching the legal age of adulthood, and while he had tried to find the same passion and love for the force that his father felt, he was never quite able to find the same love for it that his dad did.

"So have you have ever shot a gun before?" Bobby asked, clearly over the idle chit-chat, and was thinking more along the lines of training, which was something that Caleb wouldn't mind getting his hands dirty with just for the sole reason being that it would serve as a form of distraction to him.

"Yeah, but that was years ago," Caleb explained. "When my Dad used to take all of us to the shooting range to "defend" ourselves."

"So you need a refresher course," Jim surmised. "That won't be a problem. He and I both have shooting ranges out back at our homes."

"Awesome."

* * *

The air was windy as Caleb and Bobby and Jim stepped out back to the empty field behind the house that contained the shooting range. It was an ideal practice platform, and one he intended on utilizing as much as humanly possible while he was still in the beginning stages of his training.

The back field contained various targets that had been set up at different angles and different degrees of difficulty for someone to practice their own, unique skill level at. Caleb was glad for that as he stepped up to the one that was set up as medium to difficult. Even though he had shot off guns with his father and brother, it had been awhile since he had learned the ropes, and would definitely need a reminder or two.

"Okay," Bobby said, "you need me to teach you how to load and unload?"

"I think I got that part," Caleb said. "Just need to warm up is all."

Accepting the handgun that Bobby handed over to him, he considered the weight of it in his hands before he carefully aimed it at the target about ten to twenty feet ahead of him. It had been awhile since he had done this, but the incomparable feeling of power was all coming back to him as he pressed down on the trigger, timing the pulls like he had been taught.

The deafening blast of the shot, and the powerful recoil on this one, was something that Caleb hadn't anticipated as he took a second to recover from the messy shot. The bullet had barely grazed the target, and while he was frustrated at his own self for ruining the shot at the last second, he quickly aimed it back for another go, this time more prepared for the recoil.

"Good," Bobby said, when the bullet got right near the target.

"Thanks," Caleb said, sparing him a glance.

It had definitely gone better than the last time, and he tried to remember that. It had been fun, but exhausting work and he was more than ready to go back inside and hopefully catch up on some of the lost sleep that he had been trying to reclaim.

"You did good," Bobby said with a shrug as they walked back inside. "You just need some pointers."

"I know."

"Hey," Bobby said, as an afterthought. "Do you have any aversion to tattoos?"

"Why?" Caleb asked, as they walked through the house and into the family room.

"There are special tattoos that some of us use to ward off possession. It's not entirely foolproof, I suppose, but the hunters that I've spoken with, haven't had any further issues."

"I guess," Caleb said.

"You'll do it?"

"Sure."

"Just let me know when you want me to do it," Bobby said with a smirk, knowing full well how Caleb would feel about him coming anywhere near him with a needle.

"You—you're going to do it?" Caleb sputtered.

"Have to. I'm the only one who knows how."


	14. Chapter 14

Caleb couldn't believe the words that came out of Bobby's mouth as they walked into the house, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to pick up a needle and give someone a tattoo, especially someone that he had never been particularly warm toward.

It definitely gave Caleb a seconds worth of hesitation as he sat down at the kitchen table where Bobby would be performing the procedure. Although he had never been opposed to tattoos, he had never had the chance to get one, or a good reason, and while getting one to ward off possible possession was as good a reason as any, he couldn't believe that Bobby, out of all the other hunters that they probably knew, was the _only_ one who knew how to draw that particular design on someone's skin, and then needle it in there permanently.

Swallowing back the lump that had come to rest in the back of his throat, he rolled up the short sleeve shirt that he was wearing, and gestured wordlessly to Bobby where he wanted it placed. He couldn't have spoken even if he had _wanted_ to. The idea of someone he barely knew, coming near him with a needle, was just the slightest bit terrifying as he watched Bobby carefully sterilize the equipment that he would use to make the design.

"Where do you want it?" Bobby asked, once he had finished dousing the equipment in the autoclave machine that he had obtained from one of the many times he had spent in the hospital, impersonating some government official or another.

"Upper arm," Caleb said, his voice tight, carefully controlled as he watched Bobby bring the tray of colors and needles over to where he was going to perform it. "Are you _sure_ you know what you're doing?"

"No. I'm just going to stab you in the arm with this needle, and hope for the best," Bobby said, rolling his eyes. "Give me a break, idjit."

"Considering our very _limited_ history together," Caleb said, "where you almost punched me in the face, I think I have more than enough cause to be concerned."

"That was because you were all up on your high horse because-"

"Because you and Jim broke into my wife's _viewing_, if I recall correctly."

"For a good reason," Bobby reminded him. "And now that you know, you can understand, right?"

"I guess," Caleb admitted, "but the idea of you, no offense, giving me this tattoo, is just a little bit unsettling."

"You're a hunter now," Bobby said. "You have to let go of some of your hang-ups, and learn to let some things go. I'm not going to hurt you with this needle, I'm just going to put the design in, and hope for the best, and by that I mean, I hope it works to fight off the demons."

Caleb nodded, taking a deep breath as he gripped the edge of the table with his other hand, while trying to keep the one that Bobby would be using, perfectly still and calm, even though he could feel his nerves tense, as though anticipating what was going to happen, and reacting the same way that he _felt_ as he swallowed back roughly.

When he saw Bobby pick up the sterilization equipment again, this time to dab a swab with it and run it over his arm, he tensed. It was making him nervous that he was going to get inked by someone who had no real experience with doing something like this, only on the few people that he had practiced on, and the ones that had obviously been foolish enough to entertain the idea of letting him near them with a needle.

Putting his hand up to his mouth to control his reactions, he watched as Bobby first drew an outline of the tattoo on the spot that Caleb had indicated he wanted it, and once that was through, and had given Bobby something to trace the actual design on, he winced when he picked up the special needle that would etch it into his arm.

Closing his eyes, and trying to concentrate solely on the precise art of _breathing_, he felt a minimal amount of pain at first as Bobby worked to get the design right. The false sense of security he felt, made him relax slightly, until the procedure wore on, and he felt more pain associated with that area in general.

Drawing in a sharp breath when the needle made a bad mark, he clutched the edge of the table with his good hand, and tried to breathe through the uncomfortable operation, (which is what he honestly thought of it as), especially with the way the light was positioned over the area, and the way that Bobby had to keep stopping in order to wipe blood away from the site.

When he finally, at long last, pulled back from him, he was relieved. The procedure had probably only taken ten or twenty minutes with how fast Bobby had been working, but it had still been something that had seemed to take a lot longer in theory, and it was something that Caleb was glad to have over with as Bobby plastered a protective bandage over the area to keep it clean.

"You have to keep that on for a good twenty-four hours," Bobby said, catching the way that Caleb pulled at it uncertainly.

"Okay. What about infection?"

That was one of his main concerns associated with letting someone outside a tattoo parlor do the tatting. It wasn't that he didn't necessarily trust Bobby, it was the fact that he wasn't a licensed professional who knew how to mark skin.

"Zero chance," Bobby replied confidently as he cleaned up the equipment from the table. "I disinfected everything before I used it."

"Okay, thank you."

It was the first real interaction that he and Bobby had had with each other, and while he couldn't say that he was feeling entirely comfortable with the rough hunter yet, he was starting to see a little bit of hope for them in the future.

Standing up, with difficulty, to stretch the muscles that had been prone for so long, he went downstairs to where Jim was. He had promised to give him a personalized tour of the basement where he had a workout room for training, and a back storage area that contained all the weapons in his possession.

Holding his arm at an angle so that he wouldn't disturb the healing that it was trying to accomplish, he found Jim in the main area of the basement which also doubled as the workout room. He was studying something out of one of his books, but looked up when he heard his approach.

"I was wondering when you would come down. Did Bobby give you the-"

"Oh, yeah," Caleb said, laughing once. "He certainly did."

"I bet. Does it hurt?"

"A little bit, not a lot. Do you have one?" he asked, suddenly wondering if Jim had ever felt comfortable enough with getting one, especially with his position as a pastor in the church there.

"I do. I have one on my arm, like you do."

"I'm _shocked_," Caleb said teasingly.

"Well, it's not like I had much of a choice if I wanted to avoid having something demonic follow me into my church."

Even though he had been assured countless times by other, more experienced hunters that it was almost impossible for a demon to enter holy ground, he wasn't about to take chances with fate, and more importantly, the evil that seemed to constantly want to do him in for one reason or another.

It was just something that he felt more comfortable having, and was glad that Caleb had taken the plunge and had decided to trust Bobby with the big, scary needle.

"True. So you're going to give me a tour?" he asked, looking around the part of the basement that he could see. It was much larger than the one he was used to back home, and even though he knew there was a lot more to see, he was impressed with the view that he already had.

"I am. This is the room that I most often use when I want to brush up on my skills, or when I'm feeling kind of rusty."

Caleb nodded as he took in the punching bag in the corner of the room, as well as the speed bag that hung next to it. It was impressive, the equipment, and the seating arrangement in the room that gave others plenty of opportunity to observe the trainers.

"I like it. How often do you workout?"

"Whenever I feel like it."

"Works good for me," Caleb said with a shrug.

It would help him ease into the new routine if he could actually develop one based off the shaky routine that Jim held for himself. It was something that he was used to at home, the workouts. He and his brother had always been fairly active in their gyms and on the streets, and while he would be working out for a much different purpose than just for the heck of it, the same principles would still apply for him.

"Do you want to see the weapons room?" Jim asked, already moving toward a door on their immediate left that undoubtedly led to the storage room that had been transformed into a makeshift storage container for all their weapons.

It was nice, a unique way of stashing everything from the police if they undoubtedly came knocking on their doors. Waiting while his eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness (and for Jim to turn on the light), he had a brief picture in his mind of what it would look like, before the reality hit him.

The walls on both ends held racks that housed all of Jim's weapons from the years that he had collected them. One wall held a row of rifles that were hung, another held a row of handguns, and yet another wall housed other different forms of weaponry, as a floor-level display case held all the rounds that Jim had either managed to make himself, or buy.

"This is-" Caleb started to say, in awe of the sight that had befallen his eyes.

"Pretty amazing, isn't it?"

"This is all yours?"

Jim nodded, as he ventured further into the room to inspect the contents inside it. "Everything that I've managed to collect over the years. Most of it has been updated, of course, but this is the one place where I keep it for quick and easy use."

"Pretty smart," Caleb said, nodding his head in agreement.

"And I keep an extra firearm in my nightstand drawer, too," Jim explained, "just in case something breaks in in the middle of the night."

"Right."

There was so much to learn, so little time. He knew that now that the supernatural had targeted him, it would only be a matter of time before something else happened again. While this kind of life was something that he would have gladly cast aside given the chance, it wasn't anything he could help anymore.

"Bobby said you did good shooting."

"Did he, really?"

Jim nodded. "He did. When that arm of yours heals up, we'll do more training. Maybe we can even take you on a salt and burn one of these days, with you doing the work."

"What if I screw up?"

"Only way you'll learn."


	15. Chapter 15

_One Month Later_

It had been one thing to learn about the ins and outs of hunting from the professionals who did it for a living day in and day out. It was _quite_ another matter altogether to assume the role of trainee, who was expected to recite Latin phrases at the drop of a hat, and more importantly, fire on target without a single miss for the entire training session.

Some of it was rewarding—especially the times that Caleb _actually_ managed to recite the exorcism ritual that Bobby had been (impatiently) teaching him, and shoot off the gun into the moving targets that Bobby had set up.

Most of it was daunting work—especially when the guys put him on the spot with his training—making him recite the odd phrases, or making him take apart and assemble the guns within a certain time frame, but he knew that was the only way he would learn fast, by going at it with both guns blazing and not a second spent to question the sanity in it, or his own mortality which had become a hot issue for him.

Though he hadn't been allowed near any actual jobs before, he knew from speaking with Jim that the first thing he would be allowed to go on, would be a simple salt and burn in one of the local cemeteries.

In theory, it didn't seem like a big deal to break in in the middle of the night and dig up the stiff that was going around town ganking people, but he knew that the physical exertion was the one thing that would hold him back for awhile, since it was work that had to be done quickly, and it also happened to be extremely strenuous.

But for the most part, he had excelled in his training, except for the few minor blips in the road that he had to learn quickly to move on from if he wanted to perform even better the next day. Even Bobby, (who was getting close to returning home to South Dakota), had to admit that he was getting better with each passing day.

Either it was because of his lineage in coming from a line of police officers, or it was his own good luck at picking up the talent so quickly, but he had picked up the finer points of shooting targets, and had moved up fast in that area of his workouts, and while he tried not to let it show on his face, he was pleased with the results of his hard work.

It wasn't easy to pack everything up, move to Minnesota, and resume a new life for himself, all with the intention being that he would protect his remaining family from further harm, and would also save a few lives along the way. It was scary, a lot of it, but he had quickly learned to shove that fear down and replace it with a steel-like determination that carried him through some of the more tougher days that he had.

On one particularly rainy morning, the kind of day that ruled shooting out, he was lounging on the couch in the living room, having finally gotten the courage to venture out of his bedroom that he holed himself up in, and was indulging in a little bite of productive reading.

The 'Help Wanted' ads had become his friend when he was bored and looking for something to do with his time. Though he knew what it would look like to have a felony arrest on his record, especially since it hadn't been expunged off his record yet, he was hoping that an employer would look past all that, and see the hardworking guy that he truly was.

Circling a job that looked somewhat promising, he wrote the number down for later, and leaned back, closing his eyes as he tried to catch some sleep while he could. Though his insomnia had gotten better since he had gotten to Minnesota, he still had the occasional night when his brain would choose to brutally remind him of everything that had happened the last few weeks, and while those memories were already ingrained in his brain during the waking hours, it was difficult to put up with during his period of rest, too.

Barely lifting his head when the phone rang in the kitchen, he tiredly palmed his face, before resigning himself to fate, and lifting himself off the comforts of the couch to go and answer whatever problem next awaited him. Though most of the calls that came in, came for Jim, he noticed that some of the pointless advertisers had started calling for _him_ as well, no doubt having heard from Jim, or from some of the gossipers around town, that he was living in the pastor's home.

"Hello?" he said, leaning against the wall, as he waited for whoever it was to speak up.

_Hi. Caleb? _

Scrunching his eyebrows together in confusion, he adjusted his stance as he sank down into one of the few available seating arrangements at the kitchen counter.

"Dawn?"

Last he had heard from his new attorney, she had been relocating her business to there, where she had an office under construction, but the last time they had truly seen each other, had been at his arraignment, when he had been given bond despite the numerous (and pointless) arguments made by the State.

_Are you in Minnesota still?_

The way she said it, as though she was honestly beginning to doubt her client's whereabouts, and while he had tried to make himself as available to her as he possibly could, it had been difficult when he had been adjusting to everything happening to him at once, and the training course that he had adapted to with Bobby and Jim.

"Yeah, why?" he asked, as he cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder.

_It's just...the prosecution's office _did _drop the charges against you, right?_

"Yeah," Caleb said, "because they boned up something and lost the blood evidence, right?"

No one apart from he, Jim and Bobby knew that Jim had broken into the DA's office, and had stolen and destroyed the files related to his ongoing murder investigation, thus giving the prosecution no other choice but to eventually drop the case due to lack of evidence, while they tried to investigate how the files had been lost.

_Right. You were never found 'not guilty' and so that gives them free reign to pony up new charges if they ever find it._

"Right," he said, "but that's never going to happen, because the most incriminating evidence they had against me, is null and void."

_Well...that's what I was calling you about, actually._

"_What_?" he said with a groan, as he palmed his face.

It seemed that he had barely gotten out from underneath the prying eyes of the police, and their insane theories of how he supposedly killed his wife, and now Dawn was implying that something _else_ was happening back in his hometown?

_They retested the knife, Caleb, and they have the _exact_ same results that they got last time. They have it documented again, and this time there's no way they're letting that file out of their sight._

Caleb shook his head in complete and utter shock. It didn't seem real that they were going after him again, and even though it made sense since they were apparently incapable of conducting a _real_ murder investigation, it still stung in a way that he hadn't been familiar with before this.

Scrubbing a hand through his rapidly welling eyes, he tried to gather his thoughts together as much as he could before he attempted to formulate his next coherent thought.

"But the judge threw out the case before because they lost the evidence because of the knife-"

_They still had the option of retesting the knife, Caleb, and they had preserved the knife in their lab so that whatever results they got next, would be reliable _and_ viable. _

"So what are they doing with it?"

It was terrifying to ask, especially since they had arrested him for murder the _second_ they had gotten the positive blood test back. They had no way of knowing that it was a shape-shifter that had its blood on the knife, blood that mimicked his exactly because of the shifter taking his form.

He couldn't believe that, even though it had been a distinct possibility, the police were _still_ going after him. Never mind the fact that he hadn't had a single arrest before all this, never mind the fact that he and Katie had resolved each and every single one of their fights before it got ugly, and never mind the fact that he had a solid alibi to back up his claims that he was working the night she died.

_They are filing a new indictment with the courts here. They—based off the—the forensic evidence on the knife, they want to say first degree murder, but they're having a problem nailing down a motive that's basically a requirement for filing something that huge._

Of course.

Why would he allegedly go to all the trouble of killing his wife, if he didn't have a pretty strong motive for doing it? It made no sense, and if the prosecution was so sloppy that they didn't have the smarts to nail down a motive, he knew that any legal action taken against him, would be short-lived, or at least he hoped.

"So," he said, struggling to draw breath through the ever increasing panic that he could feel go through his veins like hot lava. "What's going to happen if they end up filing it _despite_ having no motive?"

_I'm trying to stall that as much as I possibly can, but there's no telling whether the judge will go for it or not. I also told him that I needed more time to prepare my defense, which is true, but it's also used more as an excuse to stall than anything. _

_If,_ she warned, _the judge _doesn't_ buy it, which is possible, you could be required to come back to Dallas to face these charges. If that happens, I'll try to make a case for you to go back willingly, under your own power and means, but if that is denied, you could face extradition. _

Caleb shook his head in simple disbelief at what she was saying to him. They, the police, had no way of knowing that what he was saying, was _true_, but that still didn't mean it was right of them to go after him simply because he was the _only_ suspect they had managed to cook up so far.

The alibi was the one thing that he couldn't _believe_ they weren't paying closer attention to, and that they weren't believing when he told them that it was absolutely true. It was maddening, it was frustrating.

He had just managed to get some semblance of normalcy back in living in Minnesota, and now he might be faced with going back to Dallas to face whatever bogus charges they had managed to dream up?

It wasn't right—it wasn't fair.

"What else are they saying?"

He wasn't sure he was emotionally strong enough to hear it, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to rest with the idea of something else hanging over his head. It was too bad, but he preferred the truth than some sugarcoated version of it.

_There's something else that they're saying...there are these new laws that are coming into play that will protect any fetus that is killed in the commission of a murder. There are certain guidelines for different stages of development, but they're seeing if the current situation applies to this, and if it does, they want to add an additional charge on because the baby died as a direct result of Katie dying. _

This time, Caleb couldn't stop the tears that ran down his face like a river. It had been bad enough to lose his wife in such horrifying and gruesome circumstances, but to also know that their innocent baby had died in the womb as a result, was even worse on him mentally, and now hearing that the DA was looking to charge him with an additional murder count for the baby's death, was absolutely sickening and terrifying to him.

"So you're saying that because the baby died because Katie was murdered-"

_Most of the blows that Katie suffered from, were to her abdomen, _Dawn said gently, _and even _if_ the baby, somehow managed to survive after that vital life supply was cut off, the damage to that area of her stomach, was too great. _

Caleb nodded, sucking in a deep breath as he tried to control himself before he lost it completely. He was so close to rebuilding his life around these people who had been kind enough to not only give him a home to stay in, but to teach him the ways of life necessary to survive the supernatural mess.

"I am _so_ close, Dawn, to rebuilding what's left of my life after that mess, and now I hear that I have to possibly go _back_ there?"

_I'm sorry, I really am. I am doing everything in my power to stall this, to file appeals stating that they're being biased toward you. I am doing everything to sway the judge in our favor. He's the one that holds the ultimate power here, not the prosecution, and unfortunately, not me. _

"So what comes next?"

_Next I have to wait for the judge to call me back, and let me know what's going to happen. It's very possible, Caleb, that nothing will come of this. It's possible that the judge will want to see more proof before he agrees to accept the charges. _

Caleb nodded, trying to allow that small tidbit of hope to sink into his soul. "Okay, so when should you know what they're going to do?"

_Within the next day or two—there's no time frame, actually. Whenever the appeal I filed gets on the judge's desk, and whenever the prosecution is heard._

"Perfect."

* * *

Dawn's conversation haunted him throughout the rest of the day, as he tried to find _something_ to occupy his mind _away_ from the thought of going back to jail, and going on trial for something that he had no part in. It was maddening, but first and foremost, it was scary as he tried to envision himself willingly traveling back to Dallas to turn himself over to the police, yet again.

Though he knew that he didn't deserve something like this happening to him again, the police didn't know that, and as far as they knew, he had something to answer for in the murder of his wife. It tore at his heart in ways that he didn't even think possible, especially when he knew that it had been something supernatural that had caused his wife to be killed.

Not by his hand.

Trying to achieve sleep had been the only thing he could think of to get his mind off the pressing fact that he would soon be hearing back from Dawn as to the status of the investigation, and what the judge had ultimately decided to with the information that he had been given by the prosecution.

Walking up the stairs, he turned into his bedroom, closed and locked the door and fell on top of the bed. His body was more worn out than he had originally thought, and while it had been lovely to _actually_ obtain the sleep that he had wanted, it didn't last long, not when other people lived in the house, and not when his mind jolted him back to reality far before he was ready.

Soon enough, he heard a knock on the door that signified that Jim was home. Bobby had gone back to South Dakota the previous week, with the promise of returning as soon as his schedule was clear, and the ability to find a good, reliable person to watch over his property and his business while he was gone.

Getting up from the comforts of the bed, he unlocked the door to allow Jim access to the room. It was clear that the hunter had just returned home from a busy day at the church. Even though he wasn't required to work on the weekdays, he sometimes elected to go in and help with some of the events that the church was putting on, and to oversee any renovations that would be put in place. It was grueling work all by itself without the hunting factored into it.

"Hey," Caleb said, scrubbing a hand over his face, trying to wipe the last of the sleep from his sore eyes. "Did you just get off?"

"You can say that," Jim said, as Caleb followed him down the stairs and into the kitchen, where a cup of coffee was much needed for their worn out nerves, even though it was the middle of the afternoon. "I was supervising some new renovations for the church, paint jobs and that sort of thing."

"So you weren't actually _working_," Caleb said, raising an eyebrow. "You were just babysitting other people."

"Basically, yes. What about you?"

Caleb shrugged, not knowing how to break the news to him that he might possibly be charged with murder again, only this time with the probability of being charged for his baby's death, too.

"Not too much. I got a call from Dawn, though," he said, as he sank down into one of the kitchen chairs.

"What did she say?" Jim asked, removing the rim of the coffee cup from his lips.

"Nothing good," Caleb said. "She said that the DA still had the knife in their possession, in their lab, and they retested it for the same evidence, and they found it again."

"The blood?"

"Yeah. So now they want to charge me—_again_—with murder in the first degree. Now they're also saying that because Katie was pregnant when she died, they want to tack on an additional murder charge for the baby because he or she died as a direct result of the injuries that Katie sustained to her...stomach."

Having to relive her death over and over again, was the last thing he felt like doing. It was something he had worked hard to attempt to move past, and having it constantly brought back up by the police and DA, was something that he hadn't counted on.

Jim was silent for a minute as he processed the absolutely stunning words that Caleb had just spoken to him. It seemed unreal that they could get Caleb out of a positively horrible situation, only for it to be brought back with a vengeance.

He was a man of faith, someone who believed in the power of positive thinking, and a higher power that would make right the wrongs that had been committed against them, but the atrocity in which the DA in Dallas was acting against his friend, was something he had a hard time overcoming.

Scrubbing a hand over his mouth, he turned back to face his silent friend. If _he_ was stunned, he couldn't _imagine_ the emotional hell that Caleb was going through in that instant, and he knew that whatever feelings he had toward the situation, he would have to shove aside in favor of helping his friend overcome this, and help him through the next few days and weeks.

"So what is Dawn saying we do?" he finally asked, once he was somewhat sure of himself, and his ability to be the pillar of strength that he knew Caleb needed him to be.

"Nothing right now. She's filed an appeal with the courts, and the judge that's supposed to rule on it, will be doing it within the next day or two probably."

"Okay, what about any other issues?"

"If," Caleb said, swallowing back roughly. "The judge rules in favor of the prosecution, I will probably have to face either extradition, or me going back willingly, on my own power."

"Well," Jim said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "They don't have our means. They don't know our ability to hide, and they certainly don't know our strength, do they?"

"I guess not."

* * *

Caleb knew that the only reason Jim was agreeing to take him out on a salt and burn—his first—was so that he could get his mind off of what was happening to him in the legal world. It was still a nice change from the usual shooting and punching that he did as part of his training, and though he had excelled at all of it, he and Jim were trying to be careful and not rock the boat any more than it had been.

Still, this would be a first, and one that he fully planned on enjoying and making the most of as he and Jim got out of the car, grabbed the tools from the trunk, and walked through the darkened and deserted cemetery.

A local woman had been murdered years ago by her jealous ex after she had left him for another man, though scandalous considering the time it had happened, nothing had compared to when her ex had shot her in cold blood, and though he was later sentenced to death for his crime, and for that against her lover, her spirit had still remained in the area, haunting her ex's family and friends, even though they had done nothing to deserve the retribution she was bestowing upon them.

"Okay," Jim said, as he switched on his flashlight. "It's in the third row, if we can figure that out, and it's the fourth grave on the right. Mary Adams."

Caleb nodded as he hoisted the equipment up higher on his shoulder. It would be his duty to provide the labor that night, as he dug through the moist ground to the woman's coffin. Then, he would be allowed to salt and burn the bones and send the woman off to her final destination, wherever that place was for her.

"How do the authorities _not_ figure out that you were here?" Caleb asked, voicing one of the longstanding concerns that he had about the entire thing.

"They have their suspicions, but they can't pin it on any one person if they didn't actually _see_ us, and this cemetery doesn't have any cameras, so we're in the clear."

"Glad you're so confident," Caleb said, shaking his head in bemusement as he and Jim finally found the right row to operate from.

"It eventually comes with the territory. You'll start to feel it pretty soon, too."

"I hope so."

With all the bad luck he had suffered from from the DA, he wasn't holding his breath that they would be able to pull off this job effortlessly. He would believe it when he saw it for himself. Too much had happened to him recently for him to feel _completely_ invincible yet.

"Okay," Jim said, as he blew out a puff of white smoke from the chilly air around them. "You have to be careful around here. Once the spirit realizes what we're doing, she'll most likely react violently, try to stop us from getting our job accomplished."

Caleb nodded. "Okay."

Armed with that precious information, his eyes trained the ground around them, trying to detect any presence that he could before something happened. The spirits didn't give too much of an advance warning, and while that usually spelled trouble for hunters, disaster could be avoided if they were at the top of their game, and Caleb fully intended on doing just that.

Once they found the correct grave marker, Caleb quickly deposited the equipment on the ground, while he grasped the shovel that would be his lifeline in quickly managing to dig through the ground to reach the coffin.

Only taking a split second to gather as much internal strength as he could, he wasted no time in plowing the shovel into the ground, throwing as much dirt away as he possibly could in his haste to reach the coffin before the spirit realized what was happening, and retaliated.

Once he felt the telltale sign of the spirit by the sharp drop in temperature, his entire body tensed with the dreaded anticipation of the spirit making her appearance too early, as he increased the pace in which he was working, with Jim standing beside him, trying to hold the flashlight steady, though it was obvious that he could detect the same thing that Caleb was.

"Got it," Caleb said, trying to catch his breath as he jumped down into the opening he had made. "Pass me the stuff. Quick!"

Nodding, Jim put down the flashlight as he prepared to pass down the oil, salt and matches. It was backbreaking work for both of them, especially Caleb, who had supplied most of the physical effort for that one hunt.

"You got to hurry," Jim warned. "It's here. I can feel it."

"Okay, I'm on it."

Fingers trembling as he hurried to get the cap of the oil off, he poured it over the skeleton of the woman, before sprinkling a heavy amount of salt over it, before accepting the hand that Jim offered him as he pulled him back on dry ground.

Heart pounding in anticipation, Caleb lit the match and threw it done into the grave. Watching the bones erupt in flames, Caleb couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in the work that he had just done.

The job wasn't for wimps, and it wasn't for the faint of heart, either, and while he could have named a thousand different things that he would have rather been doing, none of those beat the incomparable feeling of saving a life, of sparing someone that would have otherwise been lost.

Overall, it had been a success.


	16. Chapter 16

The waiting game was hard for Caleb to handle—waiting for the DA back in Dallas to decide whether, in their twisted reasoning and logic, they had enough evidence to charge him—again—with the murder of his wife, and tack on an additional charge of murder for the loss of his baby during the attack. It was frustrating, it was heartbreaking, especially when he _knew_ the truth, when he knew that he would sooner _die_ himself than raise a hand to hurt his wife or child.

Unfortunately, the people who's opinion truly _mattered_ in this case, were incapable of seeing it that way. To them, he had something to answer for, and nothing anyone could say would change that skewed view opinion had of him.

The only thing standing between them charging him with two counts of first degree murder and him possibly facing extradition, was the judge in the case who held the ultimate power of deciding whether or not there was enough evidence to proceed with the case, or if he needed more proof before making his final decision.

It was an outcome that Dawn, his attorney, was fairly optimistic would happen. Caleb tried to believe her, tried to believe the optimism in which she spoke to him on the phone, but it was hard when so many things had happened that went against him directly, and when he was trying so hard to rebuild his life, and something like this happens to him again.

Jim, being a natural believer in the power of positive thinking, was trying to think along the same lines as Dawn, and convince Caleb that, no matter what decision was handed down in the next few days, they had the power and the means to make a run for it if they had to, and while Caleb tried to feel some kind of relief in that promise, it was hard when his luck had already screwed him over more times than he could count.

Trying not to think about the current situation was nearly impossible—not when it was right in his face on the worst of days—and a faint whistle in the back of his mind on the best of days. Looking for a job had been the one thing that had served as a form of distraction for him, and while he seriously doubted he would be able to accomplish much when his record was still so spotty from the felony murder arrest, he was hoping to find something, at least.

Scrubbing a hand over his face as he laid back on the sofa, he looked over at the clock on the wall. It was nearly four. He had tried sleeping some of the morning since the previous night had proved useless in that department, but hadn't been able to achieve much.

Jim would be home soon.

He was looking into some more cases that Caleb could maybe accompany him on since he had done so well with the salt and burn case that he had provided assistance for. Hunting was a great tool for getting his mind off the situation, and something that he tried to utilize as much as he possibly could.

It was nice to get out on the field and hone the skills that he had been so carefully taught over the last month and a half. It didn't account for the feeling after, when he would come down from the high of killing something, and be reminded all over again of the current situation, but it was something that worked for a little while, and he wasn't one to complain when something offered him an out.

When the phone rang in the kitchen, he almost passed on answering it. Odds are, in accordance with his luck recently, it would be Dawn, and she would inform him of the worst possible news, that the DA had made a strong case with the judge, and he had agreed to let them file the two first degree murder charges that they had been gunning to charge him with. When the phone kept ringing incessantly, he knew that he didn't have much of a choice but to go and answer it.

Sooner or later he would have to face the music anyway.

It might as well be when he was in a fairly relaxed and good mood.

Heaving himself off the couch, he took his sweet time going into the kitchen to answer it. When his hand hovered over the receiver, he hesitated only a brief second before answering it.

"Hello?" he said, as he leaned back against the wall that separated the kitchen from the living room.

_Hi, Caleb. _

It was Dawn—no surprise.

Taking a deep breath, he scrubbed a hand over his face as he mentally prepared himself for whatever news that she was about to bring down on him now. It was scary, especially when he was reminded of all the things that had happened so far to him.

"Hey, girl," he said affably. "What's up?"

Not that he was sure he really wanted to know—not when everything had gone so horribly against him in the last few weeks, but he also knew that he didn't have much of a choice when the situation was so pressing and so horrible the way it was.

_Not much_, she said. _I spoke with the judge, though. _

"What—what did he say?" he asked, trying to keep his breathing steady and at an even keel.

This was something he had both dreaded and anticipated with equal measure, and the idea that the answer was finally upon them, was something that he wasn't sure he could handle in that instant.

_He sided with us. I also had made a case that the blood evidence was too unreliable, and he agreed with me. _

"So," Caleb said, struggling to understand this all. "He threw that evidence out?"

It was the outcome that he had prayed for, but hadn't been sure that he would ever get, especially with how persuasive the prosecution in Dallas was. Hearing that the judge had ruled in favor of them, had been a bright side that he hadn't ever thought he would get.

_He did. The blood evidence wasn't reliable, the judge said, especially since the first time turned out an inconclusive result. Without that evidence, they don't have much of a case against you, and they know it. _

"Thank you so much."

_I didn't really do anything_, she said with a laugh.

"Yeah, you did. You made it so that the judge had some serious thinking time, and he ended up realizing what a boned up case the prosecution had against me."

_Well, I'm glad I could help. That's for sure. _

"I am, too."


	17. Chapter 17

_One Year Later_

It was difficult to process everything that had happened to Caleb in the space of only a _year_. In those twelve months and fifty-two weeks, he went from being a happily married construction worker, to a widower who lost his wife due to supernatural means. After that, came a hell-storm of activity with him being charged with first degree murder in the death of Katie, something that the prosecution had cooked up after finding 'reasonable cause'.

Thanks to his good luck in finding two hunters, (people who hunted the supernatural for a living), he had been able to escape the stifling confines of his once beloved town, and travel back to Minnesota to learn the tricks of the trade when it concerned the delicate and precise art of hunting.

Then the prosecution had come back with a vengeance, claiming that because they retested the knife that had been used in the commission of murdering Katie, they had enough reason to go after him _again_, this time with the promise of charging him with an additional count for first degree murder in the death of his baby who had died in the womb as a result of his wife being killed.

Dawn, his new powerhouse of an attorney, had managed to swing things in their favor, and for once, luck had firmly been on _his_ side as they won the legal battle that had gone on in Dallas, with the judge siding in their favor, ruling that the blood evidence was unreliable, and with no further proof for them to present, the case had been officially closed.

To the citizens of Dallas, Katie River's killed remained free, still loose on the streets where he had committed his first crime. While some of that was still true, especially since he and Jim had been unable to find the shape-shifter responsible for the attack, he was content with how things had turned out in his favor.

Despite it being hard to find a good, well paying job after the fiasco with the courts, he had managed to secure a job in a similar position that he had enjoyed back home. The pay was good, enabling him to have some money of his own to do with it what he wanted, that included opening up a weapons dealing business.

It was something that was semi-legal, and also gave him the opportunity to make some extra money on the side when his regular, day job failed to bring in the dough that he needed. For the most part, he still lived with Jim, something that they were both more comfortable with, especially since Caleb had barely finished training in the supernatural, and while he considered himself above a novice in that area, there was always _something_ to learn.

Even though it had been hard to find a balance after such a devastating loss, he had managed to find it with the people that he had managed to surround himself with. The people that had taken him in for better or worse, and the people that he had come to associate with as a direct result of Jim and Bobby's kindness.

Relations were even going better with Bobby, who had, at first, had an icy attitude toward Caleb when they had first met, but had eventually warmed up to him when it had become clear that he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

Caleb was relieved.

Though life had mostly calmed down, there was still the occasional moments of unease, where he almost expected something to go wrong purely because that was usually how it worked for him, but it was times that were exciting that made his day, times where he had a good day at work, or when he had a good customer at the shop that always made him know that, for once, his luck was firmly on the side of good.

It was early 1984.

The winter they had seen that December and January, had been among the harshest in Minnesota history. Caleb's work had been at a virtual standstill for weeks because of the treacherous road conditions, and the public state of emergency that had been declared.

Finally, conditions had calmed down enough so that he could return to work as a manager of a construction firm, and make some more money. Jim, meanwhile, was eager to return to what he did best at the church, and oversee any other events that were being held there.

It was good when they had been house bound for so long as a result of the horrible weather. When he finally got off and headed back to his place with Jim, he was struck by the sight of a Chevy Impala in the driveway.

It wasn't often that they had visitors to the house. Not unless they counted Bobby or some of the hunting friends they came to share in common, like the Harvelle family, but it was rare that someone would be coming unannounced.

Parking off to the side of the driveway so he wouldn't risk scratching the beautiful, delicate exterior of the car that had come there, he got out, swinging his supplies over his shoulder as he made his way in through the back garage door.

Once inside, he could hear low voices talking in the living room. Jim's quiet voice, and a rumble of another man's voice that he didn't recognize.

Brow furrowing in confusion, he walked in further, and was struck by the sight of two children playing quietly on the ground at the feet of Jim and the yet unidentified stranger. Pausing briefly in his actions, he stopped to admire the beautiful simplicity of those kids playing.

It was something that he had imagined once upon a time for himself, and for his wife, but things had happened, and circumstances beyond his control had intervened.

"Hey," he said, announcing his presence as he cleared his throat softly.

"Oh, good," Jim said, looking up from his conversation with the new man, as he watched Caleb venture further into the living room. "There's someone I would like you to meet. This is John Winchester, and his two boys, Sam and Dean."

"I'm Caleb, it's nice to meet you," Caleb said, as he shook the man's hand, before turning his attention to the two kids who had watched the entire exchange curiously. The older one, Dean, was watching him carefully, as though he suddenly expected him to do something crazy, and while he understood the precaution, he wanted to make the kids feel at ease.

"This is Dean," John said, beckoning the boy over to his side. "This is Caleb, Dean. He's a good guy."

"Hi," Dean said, in typical five-year-old speak.

"Hey, buddy," Caleb said, smiling softly as he bent down on his level in order to make him feel more secure in his presence. "I'm Caleb."

"I'm Dean. That's Sammy over there," he said, motioning to his little brother who was crawling around the floor, intent on playing with some of the toys that had been brought over.

"Is he your brother?" he asked, trying to make conversation with him.

"Yeah. He's really annoying, though."

"Well, take it from me, most brothers are."

Dean actually laughed, and taking a look at his father and the way that he smiled, he guessed that it was the first time he had heard that precious sound in awhile.

"So," Caleb said, as he eased himself down on the floor to play with Sam. "What's going on?"

He was wondering how Jim had met this guy, and how he had felt comfortable enough to invite them back to their home. Not that he minded, especially with the chance he was being given to play with the boys, but he was also curious.

"My wife," John explained quietly, so he wouldn't upset the boys. "Was...was killed by a demon a few months ago. I've been trying to track it down, and I heard about Jim and I tracked him down at his church."

"I invited he and the boys back here," Jim filled in.

"I'm sorry about your wife," Caleb said, looking over at John. "I lost mine, too."

"Same thing?" John asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Pretty much."

It wasn't often that he found some poor fool who had fallen into the same circumstances as he was in. Only this time, if possible, it was even worse because John had two boys that he needed to look after.

"It's been rough," John said, looking over at the boys as Dean tried to engage Sam in building a block castle. "Especially for the boys, and having to move around so much. Dean misses Mary a lot, and he's confused as to why she isn't around anymore."

"You...you take the boys hunting?" Caleb asked, not quite able to control the frown that appeared over his face.

Even though he was still a stranger to many of the more intricate aspects of hunting, he knew enough to know that he couldn't imagine being in a situation that required taking little boys on hunting trips.

That was no place for little, little kids, and that was exactly what Sam and Dean were, too. Little kids who were innocent victims of this cruel world that had cropped up on them by chance, and by a sick twist of irony.

"No," John said, shaking his head. "Sometimes," he said, looking increasingly uncomfortable under the gaze that Caleb was giving him. "I have to leave them in the motel room for brief...periods."

Caleb wisely chose to refrain from making comment. He knew that if he didn't, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from lambasting the new hunter for choosing to leave his children alone in skeevy motel rooms by themselves, especially no doubt, with Dean acting as the caregiver for a less than one year old little baby.

"Is that really wise?" Caleb asked.

"Probably not, but I don't really have a choice."

"You can always leave them here," Jim said, smiling down at the little boys.

"Thank you. I appreciate it."

"Yeah, it's better than leaving them alone where some monster could get to them."

No one could argue with that. It was absolutely true that it was safer to leave the boys with people that knew what they were doing, vs leaving them alone in an unprotected motel room where evil could come and break in at any second.

John ended up leaving the boys for a few days while he went to investigate a poltergeist haunting a few states over. Those were the easy jobs that hunters most often looked for when they were seeking something new to do, and while Caleb loved helping Jim take care of the boys for those few days, he felt bad for them, too.

Dean was quiet, reserved, hardly ever speaking or interacting unless spoken to first, and when he was his most animated was when he was helping Sam with something, or making silly airplane noises while he was attempting to feed him.

So far, Caleb had been the only one to break through the wall he had built around himself since his mother's death, and he was glad. He had always loved children, and since he had lost the chance to have one of his own, he basked in the opportunity he got to hang out with John's boys.

"Sammy's sleeping," Dean stated proudly as he climbed down the stairs where he had been helping Jim put him down for a nap.

"Did you read to him again?" Caleb asked, as he bent over his guns, making sure that he was cleaning them out correctly.

"Yes," Dean said, nodding his head as he climbed into an adjoining seat to watch what he was doing. "I read _Dr. Suess _to him."

"Good for you, sport," Caleb said, smiling as he teasingly ruffled his hair.

He had been the only one to get Dean talking, and while he was glad that he had managed to do that, he was hoping to get him more comfortable interacting with people who weren't his father or his little brother.

"Thanks," Dean said with an uncharacteristically (for his age) shrug. "He likes it so I do it."

"Does your Dad ever read to you?" Caleb asked, glancing over at him.

"Not really," Dean admitted, bowing his head as he looked at the guns that Caleb was cleaning. "When he's not drinking, he's sleeping or going over research."

"Oh. Well, he's dealing with a lot right now. Just like you are," Caleb said, looking over at him. "He loves you both, I can see that."

"I know, but it still stinks when he makes me take care of Sammy. Not that I mind," he added quickly, as though he was afraid Caleb would doubt his devotion to his brother, "but I wish Daddy would help me when he's there."

"He will one of these days," Caleb promised him, internally seething with anger at the unfair position John was putting on a _five-year-old_. It was absolutely horrifying to him, and while he would have loved to have pulled John aside and give him a piece of his mind, he knew that would only bring about disaster in the end.

"I hope so. He doesn't like talking about Mommy. He says that I shouldn't, either. It makes me sad that she was with me one second, and gone the next."

Caleb nodded, reaching down to squeeze Dean's shoulder comfortingly. "I know that it might hurt to talk about your Mom, dude, but don't ever avoid it if you want to talk about her. You can, it's okay."

"But Dad will get mad at me if I do that," Dean reminded him.

"I know."

John had plainly learned to close himself off to the grief that had clearly assaulted his senses, and while that was something that Caleb had done himself to some degree, he couldn't imagine denying his children the right to know their mother through the memories that John had of her, and while he wasn't in his shoes and didn't know the things he did, it was still something that made him upset for Dean.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, obviously wanting to forget the talk he and Caleb had just engaged in. It was unusual for him to open up to people that he barely knew, but he liked the warm and open way that this man interacted with he and his brother, and he liked that he liked to have fun and play fun games with them.

It was something he hadn't had since his mother had been alive—since Mommy had engaged them in different activities, and had always allowed Dean to kiss and hold his little brother whenever he wanted to, which was quite often.

"I am cleaning out my gun," Caleb explained carefully, not knowing how much, if anything, John had revealed about the supernatural, and not wanting to accidentally reveal something he wasn't supposed to.

"Why?" Dean asked, tilting his head to the side curiously.

That answered his unspoken question to himself—and he was glad that he now had a certain guideline for how much he could say safely to Dean, who was incredibly bright for his age, and what he couldn't.

"Because it needs to be cleaned out once in awhile."

"Why?"

"Because," Caleb grinned. "If it's dirty inside, it will make it harder to shoot things."

Mainly the various supernatural baddies that he encountered on his jobs, but he wasn't about to go opening that can of worms with him. Not unless John wanted him to, and not unless he absolutely needed to.

"What do you shoot?" Dean asked, as he casually rested his arm on the counter, making himself comfortable.

"Oh, cans and other targets like that."

That had been during the beginning stages of his training. Of course, he had now graduated to tougher game that included all kinds of demons and monsters that were bullet weak.

"Can I try?"

"Well, I think you should run that past your Dad, but I could teach you if he wanted me to."

"Cool!"

Caleb nodded, smiling, glad that he had cracked through yet another barrier of Dean's. "It is cool sometimes, but you always have to remember to respect the weapon, that's the number one rule, Dean."

"Because it can shoot you in the ass?" Dean supplied bluntly.

"How do you know to say that?" Caleb asked, wondering if John had gotten careless in his grief and had started using bad language around him.

"Daddy says ass sometimes when he's mad, or when he's talking to someone that doesn't like him."

"Oh, well, that's your Dad, but you don't really want to be saying that at your age."

"Is it naughty?"

"It can be."

"Oh."

Dean seemed to take his advice seriously, and he was relieved about that.

* * *

John returned the following day from his poltergeist hunt. The boys, especially Dean, were thrilled to see him alive and healthy, and so were the guys. While he had checked in fairly regularly with the guys, it hadn't been the same as making sure that he was okay with their own two eyes.

"Were you boys good?" John asked, as he balanced Dean on his knee.

"Yes, sir."

"Good boy," John said, as he looked down at his other knee which had Sam sitting on it. "And what about you, Sammy?"

Sam gurgled in response, not fully able to converse yet, even though the desire was clearly there.

"How did it go?" Jim asked quietly, once the boys had gotten down to play on the floor.

"It went okay. The owners of the house weren't entirely receptive to me being there, but they saw my point once a bookcase almost slammed into the husband."

"Well, I'm glad that crisis was averted," Caleb said, as he looked back at the kids. "Where are you off to next?"

"I'm not quite sure yet," John answered honestly. "I do appreciate everything that you two did in helping me with Sam and Dean, and with getting more answers about my wife," he added, looking over at Jim.

"You're welcome," Jim said, smiling kindly.

"Yeah," Caleb said, scratching a hand over his face. "Whenever you need to go out on a job or anything, don't hesitate to bring the kids over. There's no need for them to be alone in a motel room," he added, fixing John with a glance.

He hoped that he wasn't overstepping his boundaries with the new hunter, but he couldn't stand the idea that Dean and Sam would be left alone to fend for themselves in a strange and unfamiliar location.

"Thank you," John said. "I'll take that under consideration."

It was on the edge of Caleb's tongue to say more, but instead, he nodded. "Okay, sounds good," he finally said, once he was sure he wouldn't leap off the couch and strangle this man for his stubbornness.

Overall, it had been excellent to meet the boys, and know that he and Jim had some new friends to look over and support.


	18. Chapter 18

As time went on, John and the boys ended up being somewhat permanent fixtures around Minnesota. Caleb didn't complain or object to their presence, and got along with John when he wasn't making thinly veiled reference to the fact that he would soon have to start training Dean, but what he _really_ lived for was seeing the boys.

Caleb had always wanted kids of his own, and when the demon had killed his wife and eliminated that longstanding dream of his, his heart had been crushed by the loss of such an innocent life by such horrible, evil means. Little had he known that he would soon be granted the joy of knowing two little boys who were both so adorable in their own ways, and who lit up whatever room they wandered into.

It wasn't often that John would make the drive _just_ for the sole purpose of dropping the kids off before a job, even though Caleb and Jim both campaigned for him to start doing it so the boys wouldn't be put in needless danger.

It made Caleb _sick_ thinking about Sam and Dean alone in a seedy motel room while their father was off fighting whatever monster of the week had caught his interest. The life was no place for an adult, much less two innocent children who wouldn't have the faintest idea of what to do if and when something sneaked past their father and broke into the motel.

It was only a matter of time, especially when John was so ill-prepared still, so new to the life that had happened upon him in much the same way that it had dropped on Caleb. He didn't mean to pass silent judgment on John, not when their circumstances were so eerily similar, but he couldn't stand it when the kids suffered as a direct result of John's carelessness.

The first time he and Dean met, they had hit it off right away, with Dean even venturing so far as to confide in Caleb about his father, and how he often drank to ease the suffering he was in over his lost mother, and while it was clear that Dean didn't really know the precise reason why his mother wasn't there, it was obvious he was hurting over it, and only to add insult to injury, he wasn't 'allowed' to speak his mother's name in front of John.

Caleb understood that grief better than almost anyone, but it made him made that John was prohibiting his son from enjoying the beautiful memories of his mother, and passing them along to his brother who would only be raised with the recollections of others, since he had been far too young to possess any of his own.

Whenever John would decide to make the couple hour drive to Minnesota to drop the boys off, Caleb was relieved. That meant that he had obviously screwed his head on right that week and had chosen the boys' safety over his concerns of missing the job.

It was always a fine line with John—and Caleb fully realized that better than anyone. That was what kept him back from speaking his mind to the novice hunter about what he was doing to the boys, especially Dean, who was old enough (and smart enough) to realize that something was wrong, that it wasn't normal to go from motel to motel on a regular, rotating basis.

He knew that if he voiced any of these concerns to John, he would probably never see the kids again, and though he tried talking to Dean and get him to open up to him more, it was clear that he was still guarded with what he said, as though he was afraid that Caleb would tell John about their conversations, which he never would for fear of what the new hunter would do with that intelligence.

It had been a few weeks since Caleb had seen the boys. John had dragged the boys off to Montana to hunt a spirit related job. It was those kinds that made Caleb feel just the slightest bit better about the boys' involvement in the supernatural world, but it was only a matter of time before John found bigger game, and when that happened, Caleb had no idea what he would do when it concerned the kids.

Even though the boys weren't his biologically, he was already feeling a strong attachment to them, especially Dean, who he could tell was feeling the same way. It gutted him when he pictured them alone and scared in some room while their father was off on a suicide mission to avenge his wife's death.

When the boys and John finally walked through the house, he was relieved. It had been awhile since he had last seen them, and was glad to see for his own two eyes that they appeared to be in relatively good condition.

Dean's face, he noticed, lit up when he saw him. In a way, it was sad that he was beginning to associate Caleb with happiness, someone who was somewhat normal and liked to hang out and have fun, and who took the time to talk to him and try to understand him, something he bet Dean rarely got from his own father.

Sam gurgled happily in John's arms, clearly enthralled with the new stimulation he was getting from being in a new place. Setting Sam down on the ground where there was some toys for him to choose from, John walked over to Caleb and beckoned him over to the couch, clearly wanting to divulge something that the boys weren't allowed to hear.

Sighing, knowing that it had to be something big (and stupid, probably), Caleb obliged and sat down with him.

"What's up?" Caleb said. "I haven't seen you guys in awhile."

From his tone, he hoped to convey to John that he didn't think it funny when the hunter would disappear for weeks without letting anyone know where or what he was up to. It wasn't funny when they were in the kind of world they were in, especially when he factored in the boy's safety above everything else.

"I was doing some odd jobs around the state."

"What kind?"

"The kind that would hopefully get me information on my wife, and what killed her."

That had been John's single obsessions since the tragedy of the fire that had destroyed their lives, and their home. Caleb sympathized with him, he did. It wasn't funny to be in the spot John was in, and he was more than happy to hear him out.

"Did you get anymore information?"

"Nothing solid. Yet."

"What does that mean?" Caleb asked, as he spared a glance over at the kids.

Dean was busy teaching Sam the finer art of crawling, which Sam had seemed to pick up like a pro. It was the walking that John (and Dean) was most anxious for him to start.

"I might have found something in Alaska."

"What?"

"A crocotta, I think it is. Some hunters I met a few states away from here, seemed to think that I could wrangle some information from it."

Caleb shook his head; he knew that this day would come, and while he thought that he would be better prepared to handle it, he realized that he wasn't. Big game like a crocotta, which had the ability of luring its victims in by the sound of their loved ones voice, also had the power of killing them much like a vampire would.

It was something that most experienced hunters had problems with, and while Caleb had never gone up against one himself, he had heard enough horror stories to last him a lifetime.

"John," Caleb began, as he clasped his hands in front of him. "I don't think it's very wise right now for you to go and try to take this on."

"Why not?" John asked, raising an eyebrow. "If this is the thing that killed her-"

"I understand, but the risk, in this situation, will most likely outweigh the result. This is dangerous, it really is. These things use your weakness, in this case your wife, to trap you and once that happens, it's not likely you'll make it back out again."

John fell silent, and Caleb realized that he was starting to consider his words as fact, though he doubted that indecision would last for long, and he was right.

"I have to try, Caleb. Wouldn't you do the same thing if you got word about your wife?"

Caleb nodded, not able to deny his words. "I would, but this is something different, John, and we're not talking about me right now."

"This thing tore my life apart," John explained. "I have to go and see if I can end this here and now."

Caleb shook his head incredulously, and also in anger. To him, it was almost like John was putting this crazy mission of his above his children, and while he knew that was most likely not the reality of it, it felt that way to him.

"What about the boys?" Caleb asked. "You're just going to leave them and risk them losing you, too?"

"I won't—nothing will happen to me," John said, denying Caleb's words.

"That's the false sense of security that we sometimes get," Caleb said. "Look, if you don't want to to forgo this job, then take someone with you."

"Caleb-"

"John, I mean it. Don't be an idiot."

"I'm not, but I need to know."

"Then take someone," Caleb pressed. "I have a bad feeling, John, don't do this."

"I have to," he said, standing up as he went over to where the kids were.

Caleb watched as he crouched down to speak with them. He couldn't make out a lot of what he was saying, but he saw Dean's shoulders slump in upset, and it was clear that John had just announced his intention of leaving again.

"Be safe," Caleb said, as he watched John gather up his supplies.

"I will be."

The boys and Caleb watched silently as the door swung closed. Caleb sat still for a few minutes as he tried to get rid of the feeling that he was getting in the pit of his stomach that something would go wrong with the job.

It wasn't an easy feeling to rid himself of. Not when he knew the history of that monster, and what it could do to John if he allowed it to.

"Caleb," Dean said, as he climbed up on the couch next to him. "Where is Daddy going?"

"He's going on a little trip," Caleb explained, as he sunk himself down to the floor where Sam was. "He'll be back in a few days."

"Why doesn't he want to take us?"

"Because," Caleb said, as he pulled Dean into his lap. "He thinks that you guys will have a lot more fun here," he explained, as he tickled a delighted Sam.

"He's right about that," Dean said, nodding in agreement.


	19. Chapter 19

It was a relief for Caleb when the boys were in Minnesota with he and Jim. Even though he _knew_ that John was a capable and skilled hunter, much like _he_ was, it still scared him when he factored the boys into the equation of that. John, for all his success at managing to train himself for the supernatural, had also taken the boys along for the ride, and even though he knew that they loved their dad and didn't seem to be any worse for wear, it was still hard on them to _constantly_ put up with the strain of moving from place to place when they they had barely adjusted to life with only _one_ parent.

Sam, at almost a year old of age, didn't seem to have the same issues that his older brother was having with it. To him, the world was still the same, slightly confusing place that it had been yesterday. He knew that he was loved and appreciated by his brother and father, and that he was taken care of, and that sufficed for someone of his age.

For Dean, who was five and a little more intuitive than most children his age, he knew more than what the adults gave him credit for. He knew that his Mom had died in a fire in his brother's nursery and that was why they traveled all over the place, because his dad couldn't stand to be in the same place that his Mom had died in, but it was also confusing for him because he remembered more than Sam did, and that included the father that held no compunctions about picking him up after a long, exhausting day at the garage, and taking him out to play T-Ball with him.

That was the John that Dean knew and cherished, and the one that he was sorely missing, but would never tell him out of fear that John would look upon him with less love, less appreciation, because any reference to that time back in Lawrence, where their lives had been peaceful and normal and happy, was something that his dad simply could not handle right then.

Being in Minnesota, for Dean, was like a reversal back to where things weren't so hard. Here, even though he didn't mind taking care of his brother, he could surrender some of that responsibility and allow Caleb or Jim to take on some of that heavy duty work, and it didn't hurt that Caleb and Jim both loved he and Sam, especially Caleb, who Dean had taken an instant liking to.

Caleb was the one who seemed to take a genuine interest in he and his brother, and especially took the chance to get to know him and respond to him. Dean had actually loved getting the opportunity to talk to him one on one, and tell him things about his father that he hadn't had the chance to tell anyone before, and while it had been nice to do all that, he loved picking his brains about the impressive looking guns he shot off, and the fact that Caleb loved playing games with he and Sam.

But even though he loved Minnesota and the peaceful atmosphere that it gave off, he couldn't quite escape the feeling of longing that he felt for his father when he went away on long trips. He was doing that more and more frequently, leaving on journey's that he and his brother couldn't go on with him.

Either he would be required to watch his brother for hours while his father was off doing whatever it was that he did, or he would drop him off at his friend's houses so they could watch them. Dean honestly preferred it that way, instead of the near constant feeling of being scared and alone with his brother, especially during thunder storms or when the tree branch outside the motel window would screech against the window, alarming both of them.

As he tore himself away from his silent musings, musings which were much too mature and serious for a child his age, he saw the glass of milk that he had neglected to finish before. Grasping it tightly in his little hand, he finished it in one gulp and put the Dinosaur themed cup down.

It was early afternoon. Sam was still sleeping upstairs in the room that Caleb and Jim had put together for them when they had first started coming over. It was nice, instead of sleeping grouped together in one bed, he and Sam had been afforded the chance to actually have their own separate ones for a change.

Scrubbing his wrist against his mouth, he hopped off the stool and went off in search of something to occupy his mind with. Even though he had been forced to grow up far too early for his age, that didn't mean that he still didn't react with typical childlike behaviors, and especially when he was bored and couldn't find something to entertain himself with.

Walking into the living room that was connected to the kitchen, he saw Caleb bent over something as he read it. He was used to that when his daddy would pour over something important, something that he couldn't tell him about.

Either it was a grown-up story, he figured, or it was something that he wasn't ready to share with him yet. Either way, he was looking for something to lighten his mind up a little bit.

"Hey, kiddo," Caleb said. "Did you just come in?"

Dean nodded. "Yes. I finished my lunch."

"Good. I'm glad," Caleb said, as he teasingly ruffled his hair up.

"What are you doing?"

"Not too much. Just reading something."

"What kind of something?" Dean asked, as he took it upon himself to climb into Caleb's lap.

"Something that's for grown-ups," Caleb said carefully, knowing what a thin line he was treading when it came to the kids and them asking questions.

It was the one thing that he respected about John, that he was trying as hard as he could, to not let them get involved in the life until it was absolutely necessary. It was a world that children most certainly did not belong in, and Caleb intended on keeping it that way for as long as he possibly could.

"Daddy always says that, too," Dean said with a huff, clearly not thrilled that Caleb was keeping something from him again.

"Well, there are just certain things that aren't for little ears like yours," Caleb explained. "One day, when you're older, you'll know."

Against his better judgment, but he knew that the day would come when telling the boys about the supernatural, would be something that would have to be done out of necessity, and though he dreaded that day with all his heart, it would have to come so they would know to defend themselves against something bad.

"Okay. Where's Daddy?"

"He'll be back soon, Dean," Caleb promised, even though he was starting to get worried that he hadn't heard from the new hunter since he had taken off on his idiotic mission.

"But when is soon?" Dean pressed.

"Soon," Caleb promised. "Okay?"

"Okay."


	20. Chapter 20

Even though Caleb had put on a facade of indifference to John being gone again in front of Dean, he was starting to get worried about the new hunter. Typically, whenever John left the boys to go on a job, he always checked in with the guys, and usually always spoke with Dean to reassure him that he was alright.

Not hearing from him was unusual—and it was something that was starting to grab Caleb's attention, even though he tried his hardest to keep the worry off his face as he played with the boys for a little while before dinner. It wasn't something he felt like discussing with them, even though he knew Dean would start to have more questions if John didn't show up soon regardless.

The boys were bottomless pits where food was concerned, and normally always ate everything that was on the menu for the night, and that night was no different as they inhaled everything in sight. It was nice to see, especially since Caleb had the distinct feeling that sometimes food was scarce when John was away or on a job somewhere.

"Will Daddy be back soon?" Dean asked, once dinner was finished, and Caleb and Jim were taking the boys upstairs to get them cleaned up and ready for bed.

"I think he will," Caleb said, as he squeezed him tight.

"I hope so because he's never gone for _this _long," Dean said, pointing out the obvious as they reached the top landing of the second floor, and made an immediate right into the bathroom where teeth had to be brushed and pajamas on to replace the day clothes they had worn out.

"I know," Caleb said softly, trying not to let Dean see how much his innocent statement had affected him as he pulled out the stool for him to reach the sink. "Now," he said playfully, trying to draw Dean's mind away from the fact that his beloved father wasn't there. "Which toothbrush is _yours_," he said, as he pretended to sort through the two brushes they had bought for the kids.

"This one," Dean said giggling despite himself.

"This one?" Caleb said, picking up the wrong one on purpose.

"No!" Dean said, outright laughing this time, as he reached for the correct one. "_This _one, silly goose!"

"Oh," Caleb said, pretending to heave a sigh of relief. "Wow, you really saved my butt there, Dean. Can you give me Sam's?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, knowing how much Dean loved assisting, especially when it concerned something to do with his brother.

"Okay."

Gratefully accepting the brush, Caleb carefully squirted enough toothpaste on the brush so that the boys could brush their teeth. Dean, being the oldest at five, was mature enough to do it by himself, and he did a good enough job that Caleb felt comfortable enough focusing solely on Sam and his dental hygiene.

"Sammy, open your mouth," Caleb said, as he stood at an angle so that he could reach his mouth easier.

Sam, not completely sure of what was happening, resisted the attempts that he was making to make sure his mouth was clean, even though John had informed Caleb that he had started brushing his still developing teeth and gums.

"Make little noises," Dean suggested, as he looked over at the struggle that Caleb was having with Sam.

Following along with Dean's suggestion, Caleb made little noises enough so that Sam was distracted enough to open his mouth and allow Caleb a quick second scrub before he closed it again. Deciding to call it good, Caleb waited with the boys in the bathroom while Jim gathered their nighttime clothing.

"Thanks for helping me with Sammy," Caleb said, as he took Sam's top and bottoms off.

"No problem," Dean said casually, as he watched Caleb's progress.

"What pajamas do you want tonight?"

"Batman," Dean said. "Because he's the _coolest _dude _ever_, right?"

"He is," Caleb agreed. "Although, I do have to say, I'm partial to Superman."

"No way," Dean said, sticking his tongue out. "Batman can kick Superman's a-"

"Careful," Caleb warned.

"Sorry. Batman can kick Superman's butt."

"Very good."

They didn't have much of a chance to talk after Jim came back in with the boys' clothes for the night. Dean, much to his enjoyment, got to wear the selected pajamas that he wanted, while Sam was dressed in some _Dr. Suess _pajamas.

"You boys ready for bed?" Jim asked, as they started walking toward the bedroom that the boys shared when they stayed with Caleb and Jim.

Dean nodded, running a fist over his tired eyes, as he barely managed to fend off a yawn that had been rapidly approaching. "Y-yeah."

"Okay," Caleb said, as he swooped Dean up in his arms and playfully plopped him down on his bed. "You want me to read you guys a story?" he asked, as he watched Jim wrestle Sam into his own bed.

"What story?" Dean asked, as he twisted his blanket around one finger.

"_Goodnight Moon_?"

Dean nodded, deciding that was an appropriate story for Caleb to read to them as he snuggled down in his bed, grasping his pillow tightly as he rolled over on his side for maximum comfort.

Once Caleb was finished reading the story, he ran his hand through Dean's hair, before bending down to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"Goodnight, dude," Caleb said softly.

"Goodnight," Dean mumbled sleepily.

Smiling, Caleb got up and went over to Sam's crib. Lifting him up briefly, he gav him a kiss and a blow to the stomach, which resulted in him erupting into a fit of laughter as Caleb lowered him back down.

It was a relief to know that the boys were safe for now—especially since Caleb now had to figure out where John could possibly be. That would be no easy task considering he had only provided the barest of details surrounding the hunt in Alaska.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he went back downstairs where Jim was already in his study, anticipating the long night of research they had to go over.

"Are the boys asleep?" he asked, looking up when Caleb entered the room.

"Yeah. So where do you think he is?" he asked, jumping right to the heart of their conversation as he took a seat at his desk.

"I don't know. Did he tell you anything about where it was?"

"No," Caleb said, shaking his head. "The only thing he told me was that it was in Alaska. Of _course_," he added, "he wouldn't give me the info needed to find him."

"No," Jim said, smiling wryly. "Of course not. What do you want to do? What was he even _hunting_?"

"A crocotta."

The look on Jim's face when Caleb passed him that information, only confirmed his worst fears that something had happened on the job, and that John would have been wiser to have taken someone along with him, but no one told John Winchester what to do, and that was the most infuriating aspect of his character.

"He didn't take backup?"

Caleb shook his head. "I tried to convince him to do that, but he wouldn't hear of it."

Jim sighed. "So what do we do now?"

"We go find him. I can while you stay here with them?"

"Sounds good."

"I'll head out in the morning."

* * *

_Well...since Caleb heads out to find John in the morning and that's basically where "Missing" started out from, this is the last chapter of this prequel story. I adore writing Caleb's character, and this was a great way to further explore his backstory and the moments in between with the boys and meeting Jim and Bobby and so forth. _

_Of course I have to ask: You guys still on board for more?_

_Thanks again!_

_Casey_

_5/2/14_

_(Happy Birthday Sam Winchester!)_


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